


Then Again

by wordsinwinters



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinwinters/pseuds/wordsinwinters
Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader must examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.Updated on Fridays. (Currently on hiatus, returning soon.)Please, let me know what you think in the comments!





	1. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm Jane.  
> This started as a tiny imagine I wanted to write one night that spiraled into 50 pages (and counting).  
> I would really, really appreciate feedback from readers!   
> I've been posting updates on Tumblr for about a month and I've only gotten three comments about it. It's slightly a bummer.  
> Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this. If you do, leave a review! 
> 
> P.S. You can find me on Tumblr at wordsinwinters, my Tom Holland/Spider-Man sideblog.

Living in New York City rarely feels as glamorous as the movies and aesthetic blogs make it seem. Most days, that  _lively hustle and bustle_  of our beautiful, always dreaming city reminds me of a horde of flies conducting emergency drills underwater. Especially on foggy days. And muggy days. And Mondays, Tuesdays, occasionally Wednesdays.  _However_ , the almost-weekend to weekend days that sprinkle in refreshing breezes alongside bright sunshine - those days pull you up by the back of your collar and shove optimism down your shirt like it’s a cool, wet towel. The city tingles from the ground up.

Today is one of those good days.

Ironically, I woke up exhausted. I nearly spilled my breakfast in my lap (but didn’t, thanks to Peter) and I walked with my three best friends to school through fields of exhaust fumes half-awake. Once there, however, it all seemed to turn around. The classes I attended went wonderfully and the classes I didn’t attend, I’ll assume went just as well. I skipped half of them for the first time in my life.

Besides occasional “homework sharing,” I rarely break rules, it’s just that Ned and Michelle can be extremely persuasive… not that I needed much persuasion today. The suggestion was enough. I’ve been so giddy this week that I embraced the tiny taste of teenage rebellion with open arms. (“Tiny” seems like an appropriate description: all we did was hide out in random parts of the school watching Vines, playing minor pranks in the hallways during breaks, and stealing food from Peter’s stash of locker snacks as payback for his refusal to join us.)

Today has been a great day, and outside of Peter acting a bit strange, it’s been a good week overall. It’s just so easy to be happy with everything going on. Tonight: special dinner with our friends. Tomorrow: Midtown’s academic decathlon team heads to Washington, D.C. Shortly after, my friends and I will attend homecoming, go on summer break, and enter our senior year of high school. My anticipation for this trip, the dance, the summer, and our eventual graduation bubbles up inside my stomach anytime the conversation between me and two of my best friends takes a short dip as we walk back from school.

Despite all of the upcoming things I have to think about, this walk is making my thoughts drift back to the one topic I’ve been trying most to avoid.  _Why wouldn’t Peter sneak out of class? He isn’t always such a rule follower anymore. And then why leave seventh hour when we all have class together? Is it just a today thing? He’s seemed… off all week_.

I needed to stop thinking about him. Wondering why he’s been strangely reserved or else imagining the previous seven hours with him more present in their events is not going to help me keep our friendship normal.  _Just think about something else. Anything else. Even someone else._

“Should we invite Flash?” I ask. I ask this partly because it’s a question nobody has brought up yet, and partly because the conversation has certainly dipped and my brain wants to sprint away from my control. I even thought I saw Spidey a minute ago. By now he’s on the other side of Queens.  _Think of something else._

We stop on the sidewalk, traffic rushing in front of us, countless buzzing people behind everywhere else.

Ned and Michelle turn to me with matching expressions.

“And why would we do that?” Ned asks.

“Because every-”

“Oh, shit.” Michelle groans. “Because everyone else, bar Mr. Harrington, is going. The entire team except Flash. For being so smart, we’re all a bunch of fucking idiots.”

“Technically we don’t  _have_  to do anything,” Ned says, obviously resistant to the idea. “It isn’t an official team dinner or whatever. We can’t get in trouble for it.”

“Still, as captain, I can’t organize a social gathering with everyone but Flash and pretend it isn’t a shitty thing to do. God damn it.”

The  _walk_  signal turns white as Michelle starts a text to Flash. Peter’s apartment is only a few blocks away.

 

Once we reach the door, Ned knocks. We all know Peter and May won’t be in, but Ned has a habit of politeness that even that few things can shake. After a couple seconds, he unlocks it himself with one of the five total keys to the apartment. (Strictly speaking, May isn’t supposed to have had three extra copies made, but she wouldn’t be May if she paid mind to that rule.)

“So,” Michelle says, heaving her bookbag into a chair. “Music and clean, then Netflix and chill?”

The three of us look around at the destruction our last night of studying brought the apartment. Snacks and dishes are strewn in odd places and our fallen pillow fort is a ruin. A sticky 5 Hour Energy must have splashed on the carpet at some point, given the pink stain to the right of the couch. Coating most of the colossal mess are countless pieces of scribbled-on paper.

Ned and I nod in agreement.

Michelle’s speaker beeps awake and we set to work.

As I gather garbage, I let the music fill up my skull. I imagine confetti raining down inside of it, each piece sparkling with tiny letters that read:  _It’s just one of those good days._

The only thing that could make this day better would be the presence of Peter and May Parker. But then again, Peter ducked out of last hour, I suppose to get a head start on his “internship” (he’s never done that before though, so the irony of his skipping part of Psych and not any other classes did not slide by unnoticed by Michelle or Ned either) and May has… a job, a hobby? I really don’t know. Wherever they are and whatever they’re doing, I can’t help wishing they were home.

 

May returns around 5 p.m. As usual, she is unsurprised to find us watching Netflix. Over the last couple weeks, we took study breaks by picking out a lighthearted show and making questions from an episode. Today is an exclusively no-studying day, but we can’t help continuing the mini-tradition while we marathon Friends.

“Ah, the Studying-Not-Studying game.”

May walks over smiling, her arms crossed.

“It’s a vital healing process for our near-fatally strained brains,” I joke.

A phone buzzes.

“Wait, Miss MJ! You can’t answer that text until you answer my question for this episode. Were they,” May says, “or were they not,” she pauses, “on a break?”

“Oh god, no,” I plead. “Please,  _please_ , don’t start this again! Ned and MJ argued about this for twenty minutes before you got here!”

“Okay, but Rachel  _did_  say-” Ned begins.

“Oh my god, Ned! We talked about this!”

Michelle begins explaining with her hands and May grins, walking into the kitchen. Feinting defeat, I put my head in my hands and sink into the couch cushion. Slumped, I take out my own phone. Nothing.

I text Peter.

“Still good for 7:30?”

 _Whoosh_. And now the waiting game begins. Actually, it began at 3:00 p.m. when I sent the first of a dozen messages. But none of them were questions, so an answer wasn’t necessary.

“Hey MJ,” I say. “What  _was_  that text you got?”

Michelle and Ned halt, hands frozen in expressionistic flight.

“Let’s see.” She flips her phone over. “It’s from Flash.”

Ned clasps his hands together.

“Dear merciful God,” he prays. “Please, please, let MJ read us a rejection text from Eugene ‘Flash’ Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy.”

We made up that nickname today while cutting fourth hour. Not quite eloquent, but to the point. Plus, it’s almost impossible to say seven times fast. (We made a game of trying.)

Michelle types a quick response and takes a breath, placing her hand on Ned’s shoulder.

“Prepare yourself for something dreadful, Ned.” She hangs her head. “Eugene ‘Flash’ Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy is… ‘super doped out’ to accept our invitation.”

“God damn it.”

“Kids!” May calls from the kitchen. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to watch your language?”


	2. Part 2

I hate the waiting game.

It is by far my least favorite game to play with Peter. QuizUp, Kahoots, Monopoly, How-Many-Arguments-Can-We-Start-Between-Ned-and-MJ-In-A-Day, Charades, and Scrabble are all entertaining games to play with him. The waiting game, however, is grey and bland. Moreover, it makes me feel paranoid and clingy. Both paranoid and clingy, yet simultaneously doubtful of how valid those two emotions can be, given the circumstances. It’s a draining game of mental tennis. On one side of the court:  _I’m being - and coming across as - so clingy_. On the other:  _My emotions are justified reactions that anyone would have in this situation, not knowing if their friend is okay. Peter probably knows that too_. Trying to decipher which is true and which is false only leads me to bounce back and forth between those two sides for hours. Until Peter responds. Then it all goes away.

The stress of the waiting game always manifests as an itch on my right index finger.

Most days that itch only somewhat bothers me - but today, of course, isn’t most days. It’s been a wonderful, sunny day that everyone (but Flash) has been planning for over a month. Like the city, it might not be glamorous, but it’s ours and it’s meant to be special.

I mean, even Peter has been excited about this from the start, all the way up to today. Despite being somewhat of a recluse this week.

At this point, my finger is red and burning. Peter hasn’t answered my texts, Michelle’s ironically professional emails, or Ned’s dozen calls. It’s 7:15 p.m.

Michelle thought it best to arrive early, so the three - rather than four - of us await the rest of the team at a large table in a decently busy restaurant.

I open my messages. Nothing.

“We’re already here, btw.”

 _Whoosh_. I close them. Ned glances at my phone.

“Tell him if he’s later than 8, I’ll rat him out to Aunt May. She told him this morning that he should skip his ‘Starky stuff’ and just hang out with everybody today. I don’t think she was too happy when she got home and saw he wasn’t there.”

I hadn’t heard May say anything to Peter this morning. Then again, I  _had_ fallen asleep at the table. (Michelle kept kneeing me on the couch all night - the reason I barely slept.) And when Peter woke me up because the cereal bowl I was cradling threatened to fall, May didn’t even make a joke about it.  _Did_  they have an argument?

“Earth to Y/N?” Ned waved his hand in front of my face. “Daydreaming about Spider-Man again?”

On the bright side, Peter isn’t here to hear that. Ned’s been making a lot of weird comments like that today. It’s not helping the fact I feel so paranoid.  _How would Ned know? And why so suddenly?_

“Very funny. I’ll text him.”

I open my messages again.

“You and May okay? Ned says he’ll tell her you bailed if you don’t get here by 8. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

A few minutes later, the waiter brings a tray of waters. Two minutes more and he leads Abe, Cindy, Sally, and unexpectedly, Betty, the blonde newsgirl, non-decathlon member, to the table.

A round of “Hello!”’s are exchanged.

“It’s cool if Betty joins us, right?” Sally asks. “We all kind of met up on our way here and she was about to pass by, so we thought it’d be alright?”

“Of course,” Michelle says. Her nails drum the table. Our little code.

“Absolutely,” I add. “Ned was just saying we should have invited you, Betty!”

Ned thinks he can keep a secret. But he can’t. I’ve noticed him staring at her in seventh hour and Michelle is  _far_  too perceptive to miss it. With me, Michelle, Peter, and Flash all being in that class, you’d think he might make an effort to be less obvious.

 _Have I been obvious? Is that why Ned’s been making those jokes today? But why today? I barely even_ saw _Peter today, let alone while Ned was there._

“Really? Thank you! I didn’t want to intrude on the team before you guys left or anything.”

Her smile is genuine. I suppress a laugh as Ned’s ears twinge red and he struggles for a cool way to play along.

“Yeah, totally. I mean, you should go with us to D.C. It’d be totally cool.”

“And totally against the rules,” Cindy points out, frowning. “Don’t get me wrong, it would be cool, but Mr. Harrington doesn’t let anyone outside of the team come. Trust me, I-”

 _BEEEEEEP!_  A horn blares outside. Once. Twice. Thrice. The third blast holds for ten seconds, minimum.

A waitress, her arms full of hot plates, glares out the window she’s now blocking. I have a guess as to which car in all of New York it is, though. Nevertheless, the scent of freshly baked salmon, wild rice, chocolate, and something lemony from the plates is making my mouth water.  _Hurry up, Parker. Even Flash is on time._

“I predict,” Abe says, “Flash will walk through those doors in approximately sixty seconds.”

Everyone watches the clock, all knowing it’s undoubtably him.

Sixty seconds later, Flash strides in.

“You know,” he announces, pulling off his  _the price of this could buy Ned a new gaming console_ jacket, “in this world, there are the Have’s and the Have-Not’s. And the Have-Not’s are real dicks to any Have’s with a worthwhile car.”

Michelle immediately starts to speak.

“No need to go off on a spiel, O Captain, Our Captain,” he mocks. “I know, I know. Rich people, poor people, power structures, etcetera etcetera. Don’t get your braids in a knot.”

“Are-”

“Oh my god! It’s not a race thing! Chill out. It’s literally because you’re wearing braids today. Not everything means something, you know!”

 _He’s barely sat down and he’s already trying his best to pick a fight_. The consistency of it borders on comforting. In a strange, stupid way, Flash is dependable.

“Freud would beg to differ,” says a voice to my left.

I’m surprised for the second time in the last ten minutes. Peter didn’t bail.

I feel my pulse jump as he runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. I hate myself for it. He slides into the booth to take the table’s last seat beside me. Oddly, he doesn’t say hello or acknowledge me at all. Then again, he’s been odd all week.

Does _Ned know something? Did he tell Peter? Does Peter feel awkward about me now?_

I try to shake myself of these thoughts. Ned  _can’t_  know anything. I haven’t said a thing to anyone. It has to be something else. It  _has_  to be.

“Yeah, well,” Flash says, affronted. “Freud wasn’t a real psychologist anyway. What’s his work got to offer? It’s not even valid.”

Everyone races into the topic at once, drowning out the restaurant’s gentle music.

Moments like this make me fall in love with friends all over again. My best friends are talking passionately with their hands, their individual mannerisms and voices blending together like warm colors and soft city sounds. My other friends (or teammates, however you would label it) are bouncing points and ideas from each person to the next like an inflatable beach ball, never stumbling over one another.

For once, I sit back and soak up the moment. Admittedly, Freud is a subject I would rarely pass up, but I’m too relieved at the turn-out to think. Everyone showed up. Everyone is getting along. (As much as ever.) Rather than participate in the aggressive bonding of our group, I smile, listen, and laugh, trying to convince myself things with Peter are fine.  _This is the perfect night for an almost perfect day, don’t overthink it._

I take a moment to admire the restaurant. It’s one Abe suggested. The room is deep red, the hanging lights emit a delicate glow, and for the sake of minimalistic elegance, gold flecks are painted to sprinkle down the walls from the ceiling. It’s such a small detail I almost miss it. Other tables are talking and joking, silverware clanging and plates steaming. It smells like a fresh bakery impregnated with a vegetable garden and a smokehouse.

Mouth watering again, I notice Flash is the only one looking at a menu. He’s gotten to the “I don’t care about this topic anymore” stage of his argument. I don’t want to interrupt anyone, so I pick up my menu as well. Maybe someone else will catch on and one by one we’ll come back down to Earth.

“Yes it does!” Peter shouts beside me.

Maybe not.

“You can’t bring that up without discussing the one thing that  _clearly_ directly correlates his childhood to that thesis!” Peter says. I suddenly realize he’s seriously into this argument. The point he’s making is one of my own though, so it gives me a short flutter of pride. I know he listens to me and to everyone else, but it’s satisfying to have it confirmed, to know, with evidence, that we learn from each other. “Right, Ned?”

Peter turns from Flash to me to Ned. In the half-second they’re directed at me, his eyes shine with anger. My gut drops. Peter never gets angry, not like this, not at me.

“Yeah,” Ned says slowly, “but Y/N gets this better than I do. Didn’t you say-?”

Peter whips back to Flash.

“My point is-”

Ned gives me a questioning look, head tilted.

Peter is less than a foot to my left, but I take out my phone anyway. He’s too deep into the argument to notice and I can’t ignore whatever is going on anymore. I message Ned and Michelle.

“Peter mad at me for something?”

_Whoosh._

The waiter returns to the table.

“Anyone ready to order?” he says, pen and paper pad in hand.

“I am,” Flash affirms immediately. “I’ll have the-”

“We’ll need a few minutes,” I say. Nobody picked up the menu hint.

The waiter nods and leaves with a smile.

“Okay, children,” Michelle says. “Let’s be quiet for a couple minutes and focus at the task at hand. Everyone have their menus? Excellent. I’m so proud. Ready. Set. Go!”

The table as a whole seems fine. Everyone here takes debating as entertainment and few topics result in any real disagreements. (Well, we get over them quickly, at least.)

Across the table, Abe points at his favorite dish as a suggestion for Cindy. Everyone else is calmly reading the first page.

Except Peter. Peter’s mouth is screwed up in mute irritation. In truth, it’s hard to take him seriously with that expression. It looks like he’s trying to hide something in there.  _Just a couple secrets, no big deal._ I consider whispering a joke to him about it to lighten the mood. I deflect the thought immediately; I doubt it would work right now.

_Ding! Ding!_

My phone. Peter huffs. I switch it to silent.

MJ: “He’s acting weird. Maybe it’s about May? They got into an argument in her room while you were cuddling your Fruity Pebbles.”

“About what?”

_Whoosh._

_Bzz._

MJ: “I couldn’t hear. Kind of pissed me off. I have no idea. Ned?”

I glance up. Michelle has built a house out of her and Abe’s menu since he’s looking at Cindy’s. Her phone must be hidden inside like an Easter egg.

Ned, like me, hasn’t put that kind of effort into covering up our gossiping. He’s scanning the menu, but texting under the table.

_Bzz._

Ned: “I heard 1: time management 2: friendly-at-home-occasionally Peter Parker 3. Y/N might”

_Me?_

“I might what???”

_Whoosh._

Ned: “I cnat believe i typed that without any mistakes not looking. and idk. those were just the words i cauhgt.”

MJ: “Ironic, Ned.”

I sneak a peek at Peter. He lifts an eyebrow. I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to something on the menu or if he knows I’m trying to analyze him through my peripheral vision. Either way, I give up on both the analysis and the texts.


	3. Part 3

Aside from Peter’s obtrusive moodiness, the dinner ends up better than I imagined. We try to avoid too much debating - to save our brainpower for the coming tournament… and, though no one says it, to avoid being kicked out of the restaurant because Peter was getting way too loud while arguing with Flash.

Instead, we go a different route. We breathe life back into a handful of school memories, the kind I hope we always remember, even when we’re eighty. A personal favorite of mine is the time the captain of our baseball team misheard “shoe string” as “g-string” during the “Lost and Found” pep assembly game and, without hesitation, reached into his pocket and threw one down to Mr. Harrington (whose face was appropriately horrified). Or, a favorite of everyone’s, the time Abe spilled saline on Flash in Chemistry. Most of us were there when Flash pulled the emergency shower and started stripping in the middle of class because he assumed the liquid was acid and Abe was laughing too hard to tell him otherwise.

“Seriously? That’s so old!” (It was only two months ago.) Flash can’t let that story slip without protesting, yet he has to force his own laughter down. His mouth might be running, but I can tell he’s mostly amused, partly embarrassed. For once, he doesn’t seem like such an asshole. “And you shouldn’t laugh, Y/N, given what you did in first grade!”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Me? What about first grade?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow back to me as I squint, trying to recall. After a long pause, I remember. “Oh…. That about first grade.”

 _Of course he remembers_. My face is changing colors, I know it is.

“Are you blushing?” Ned asks, astonished and intrigued.

I try to stifle the laughter rising in my throat. It bursts out anyway. I really can’t believe I forgot about this. If Flash hadn’t mentioned it, maybe by the grace of God, it would never have crossed my mind again.  _Damn you, Flash_.

Peter shifts in his seat. His arm brushes mine as Flash begins to boast; he pulls it back. It makes me jump, just barely, from the warmth.

“Miss Goodie Goodie Two Shoes dragged me,” Flash says, “an innocent young boy, under the slide - during recess - to kiss me. And  _boy_  did she.”

Flash leans back in his chair, arms crossed, with an  _I won_  smirk that he directs at me, then Peter.

_Screw you, Flash._

“You did not,” Michelle says in disbelief. “You kissed Flash?! And never mentioned it?”

“Hold on!” I say. Side conversations have halted for this piece of old gossip and there is no way Flash gets to bring me that low with something from a decade ago. “Back then, he was little, brainy Genie. And to be fair, he had a gumball machine delivered to my house. Yeah, Flash, don’t think I won’t bring up the fact  _you liked me_ , not the other way around. I assumed he was a rich prince and that if I kissed him, he would turn into a frog and I could steal his money from his locker and his desk. It wasn’t like I got naked in front of twenty-eight students and my teacher  _two months ago_!”

“That’s so not how the fairytales go, Y/N,” Ned mutters. “Was your childhood okay?”

“You thought he was a frog?” Peter asks, speaking to me for the first time tonight. He crosses his arms.

“Yes, Peter Parker. I thought I could rob a magic frog prince. It borders on childhood criminal fantasy, but the point is: I was a _child_. You can’t make fun of me for something I did at six years old.”

“Oh, really? And what does frog taste like?”

His shoulder nudges mine as he leans in close, his eyes flickering to my lips for emphasis. My heartbeat is pulsing at the tips of my ears. I untuck my hair from them in case they turn red.  _I never thought he would look at me like this_. Even if that look is for the wrong reason, it’s like a finger curling around my collar bone building pressure as it pulls downward. My breathing verges on painful.

 _What_ was _the kiss like?_

I pause.

“Dirt,” I say.  _Make this funny again._  “Even as I dragged him to the slide, his hands were stuffing his mouth with  _dirt_.”

Laughter erupts again. _Thank God_. Soon, Abe is almost in tears over it, clapping Flash on the back as Flash stammers to defend his choice of lunch ten years ago.

Peter goes silent again, eyes on the floor. Against my will, I can picture a tiny Peter Parker sulking inside my brain picking at the loose threads of my mental Perfect Day tapestry. My optimism is coming completely undone. Frustration or anxiety or both are pushing me off of my little “today” high.

* * *

We exit the restaurant at 10:27. Goodbyes and “See you in the morning!”’s pass between everyone in a jumble of half-conversations. I eavesdrop on Ned and Betty, both leaning against the window, cloaked in neon red glow with taxi headlights gliding over their kneecaps.

“So lame that Mr. Harrington won’t let us bring non-team members,” Ned’s saying. “He’s always being such a stick in the mud. Somebody should just… I don’t know.” He stumbles for words. “Like, kill him or something.”

Betty lets out an awkward chuckle.

“You know,” he hurries, “as, like, a prank.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she doubles over.

“ _Totally_. I’ll write the Morning Announcement piece on it and everything. See you in Psych in a few days?”

“Yeah! If I’m not in jail for murder, you know?”

Now they’re both laughing. Little stars of excitement bloom in my chest. I’m so glad Betty came. I’m thinking about all the future excuses I can muster up to force them to work with one another in class. My daydream dissolves as Michelle hip checks me back into the present.

“I hope you’re ready to lose a seventh hour buddy,” she whispers.

“Nah. I’ll stay on that love train as a third wheel. Gotta make sure the conductor doesn’t wreck it.”

“Trains have like, 8 wheels per segment.”

“Per car, you mean.”

“Exactly. I think Ned can handle it.”

“This must be a new record for us derailing a metaphor because I don’t follow the tracks you’re laying down.”

“Those are terrible puns and you know it.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. The phrase  _I love my friends_ should be etched into the bone of each of my ribs. The phrase repeats itself so often in my head I like to visualize it that way.

As Cindy, Abe, Sally, and Betty wave goodbye, I turn to Ned. He’s waving back at them, a grin sprawled across his face. Eventually I catch his eye and smirk.

“You saw what you saw,” he mouths, jerking his head slightly to where Betty had been standing and giving me his best “cool guy” attitude.

Before I can respond, Flash finishes his conversation with Peter (which… though tense, didn’t seem hostile for once), and addresses the remaining four of us.

“You know, I thought this dinner thing was a joke at first, but it was actually… not the worse idea in the history of Midtown Tech. It gets an official Flash rating of Not Totally Lame.”

Michelle raises her eyebrows. Ned and Peter look vaguely annoyed. Personally, I’m not  _that_  surprised. (I’m kind of surprised - that he vocalized it.)

“You’re wel-”

“Yeah, dude, well, you were only invited a few hours ago,” Peter says. He scratches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyebrow before making eye contact with Flash again. “And the rest of us planned this last month. Like, ages ago.”

Everyone freezes.

“Cool,” Flash says. “Bye guys. Fuck you, Penis Parker.”

* * *

Peter doesn’t speak a word as we walk back to his and May’s apartment. His behavior is so foreign, so drastically cold even compared to how he’s been all week, that Ned, Michelle, and I keep our mouths shut too. Until we reach the door.

Peter unlocks it and turns around.

“You guys staying here tonight?”

“Yeah,” says Ned with the tone of  _obviously_.

“Do you want us to go home?” I ask.

He looks at the ground as he shrugs. He seems almost as shy as the first time I met him, years ago.

_What is going on in Spider Town?_

“Just thought you guys might sleep better in beds. I know that couch sucks.”

“The couch is fine,” I say, wondering if he needs the reassurance of us _wanting_  to be there. “MJ is what sucks. She pushed me off in her sleep half a dozen times. This time, she gets to sleep on the edge.”

Michelle nods. “But if you try to spoon me  _even once_ , I’m going to roll over and crush you.”

Peter stops listening and pushes the door open.

I fight the urge to kick at his heel while I follow. Peter Parker has always been the sweetest person in this city. Right now, though, he’s genuinely pissing me off. He’s acted worse than Flash has tonight, completely unlike himself. _If anything, he’s making Flash look like a better friend._

 

After faces are washed, teeth brushed, and retainers stuck into place (everyone but Michelle - her teeth are naturally perfect), we turn off the lights and head to our usual sleeping stations. Michelle and I on the couch, Peter and Ned in the bunk beds. I lie on the couch for fifteen minutes, itching my index finger.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t steal my spot.”

Because of my retainers, it sounds more like, “Don’t thteal my thpot.” I take them out.

_Maybe I can end this on a good note._

I stumble in the dark for a few steps until I find the hallway with my hands. I reach Peter’s door and turn the knob. A quiet conversation stops.

“Ned,” I whisper from the doorway. “Before I go to bed, I just need to clarify: if you do murder Mr. Harrington, legally I’ll have to testify against you. And I don’t want to see you behind bars. Try a different way to impress her, maybe?”

“Oh my goddd,” Ned groans. “I…. I still have no idea why I said that.”

I imagine Peter smiling on his bunk. He probably isn’t. If he were in a good mood, he would laugh and ask what we were talking about. If he were in a better mood at all, he would know by now.

“I know,” I say. “Goodnight!”

As I pop back out of the room, I hear Ned’s reply and Peter’s quiet, “Yeah.”

_Who says “Yeah” to a “Goodnight”?_

Peter Parker, apparently.

Tomorrow, I’m either going to hug him or kill him.


	4. Part 4

I wake up to brown eyes in the almost-dark. (I’ve imagined this in a slightly different context a hundred times by now.)

Peter’s lightly shaking me awake. And Michelle, by default, who smacks him away. Despite former promises not to cuddle her, I must have latched on at some point last night, like always. The fact that I’m not on the floor is another reason I love Michelle. For all her tough talk, she’s as soft as a pillow. Actually, that’s not completely true. Michelle is the fiercest person I know - when the stakes are higher than sleeping arrangements.

I detangle myself from her and smile at Peter, hoping today is different.

Peter smiles back. It’s small, but it’s there.

“Shower open?” I whisper.

“Yeah. When did MJ want to get up? Aunt May said she’ll make pancakes once everyone is awake.”

I squint at the clock. 6:13 a.m.

“7. But she’ll settle for 6:45 if she smells food.”

Peter nods. My eyes adjust a bit and I force myself up, into the hallway, and around to the bathroom. At the door, I hear May and Ned talking quietly in Peter’s room. If I were less tired, I might eavesdrop. But I’m not. Ned will probably tell me anyway.

During my slightly too-long shower, I try my best to stop thinking about Peter and last night and his eyes before the dirt comment and this morning and the thousands of impossible future scenarios that would link those moments together under more favorable conditions. For months now, I’ve spent most of my time thinking about Peter Parker and how I need to stop thinking about Peter Parker. Again, endlessly, it doesn’t work.

After pancakes, May drives us to the school where the bus and rest of the team wait. She hugs each of us individually, wishing us luck and reminding us to keep her updated by texts and calls.

“I know how competitive all of you are,” May says with a smile, “but remember that this trip is a chance to have fun and act like real teenagers for a few days.”

Her smile relaxes as she looks pointedly to Peter.

“Okay? Just remember the stuff we talked about. Be a little more adventurous.”

“More adventurous?” Peter asks. “Are you sure?”

May’s hands go to her hips.

“You know exactly what I mean. And I’m going to check up on things. Count on that.”

This seems soaked in subtext, though I have no idea what sort.  _I should talk to Ned._

“Alright kids, come back in one last time.”

May binds us all into a group hug before kissing our foreheads. I maneuver to the end of the line for this one (least amount of forehead lipstick). Ned gets it worst, Peter plenty, and Michelle a smudge. Hopefully I have nothing.

May must realize this, because she musses up my hair afterward and laughs.

“I’m going to force Peter to do that every night while you guys are away. How will you kids survive without a full balance of Parker love?”

Peter starts to say something in an exasperated tone as his cheeks turn pink but she shakes her head and laughs again. At the same time, I try to suppress the color I feel tickling my neck.  _If Peter ever kissed my forehead and then did that to my hair…._

“I’m only half serious. Totally serious - but anyway, I love you guys and I’ll be here when you come back!”

We walk to the bus where Mr. Harrington and the rest of the team are talking. Peter, Michelle, and I try to discreetly wipe our foreheads with our sleeves.

“Ned? You’ve got… a lot,” I say, gesturing.

He smiles.

“I know.”

“Oh come on, man,” Peter says. “Seriously?”

 

Mr. Harrington counts each member of the team and passes around a sign-up sheet before we can step onto the bus. As the last three of us approach the door, Flash taps Peter’s shoulder.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing above Peter’s eyes to the circle of smudged red. As Peter opens his mouth, Flash nails his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What? Somebody already do that?”

Without thinking, I jam my knee into the back of Flash’s leg. He falls with the most unflattering  _huh-yuht_  sound I’ve ever heard as he hits his head on the bus door. My heart is racing.

_What just happened?_

Peter pauses, his mouth in a tight line. He steps over Flash and onto the bus. At the top of the stairs, he turns and waits for me. Flash stands up and tries to play it cool.

“I get it. Making me eat dirt. You wanna recreate some childhood memories?”

I notice the red mark now on his forehead, a mirror of Peter’s. I can’t think of anything to say. I’m still processing the fact that he actually  _hit_  Peter. And that  _nobody_  on the bus saw it, judging by the lack of Mr. Harrington’s voice. I could kill him. I could really kill him.

I shove Flash out of my way and go to sit with my friends. I can’t believe him.

* * *

Michelle being chosen as our captain is the best thing to happen to our team. Particularly because Mr. Harrington lets her arrange which rooms all of us sleep in as a privilege.

The list goes:

  1. _MJ and Y/N_
  2. _Peter and Ned_
  3. _Cindy and Sally  
_
  4. _Abraham and Eugene._



(Anytime she writes our names down for anything, she always writes “Eugene” instead of “Flash.” He has made  _many_  public protests about it.)

Our room is right next to Ned and Peter’s. And at the opposite end of the hall from Mr. Harrington. If we’re too loud or if we stay up too late, the chance of being caught is slim. (Not that we would ever stay up late enough to compromise the competition… just a little after curfew. The _following_  night we’ll stay awake until some time in the morning.)

Now that the half tense (me, Peter, and Flash), half friendly (everyone else) team bus ride is over, MJ and I get to unpack. But first I need to tell her about what happened earlier.

“Flash hit Peter,” I blurt.

“What do you mean?”

“He made a comment about the mark from May’s lipstick and he hit him. Just-!”

I make the motion with my hand.

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you guys say anything to Mr. Harrington? Or me or Ned? I’m team captain, I could have-”

“Because,” I rush, “Peter acted like it didn’t happen and when he didn’t say anything, I got a feeling he might get angry with me if I did and yesterday was so awful. I think he wants this year’s trip to be normal, you know, compared to last year? I just had no idea what he wanted me to do.”

Michelle takes a breath.

“So, you did nothing?”

“I mean, I kind of got Flash back for it? He hit the door with his head and got the wind knocked out of him.”

 _That’s not enough, I know_. Talking about it has me worked up again. I could kill him. I’m sure Michelle feels the same way, given her current expression.

“Ask Peter about it,” she suggests. “If he says drop it, we drop it. If he says anything else, we go from there.”

I nod. Slowly we begin to unpack.

Drawers are being opened and closed as we both turn to each other at the same time and say the same thing:

“I could kill Flash.”


	5. Part 5

If I said that this was the worst week, and that yesterday was the worst day, of my life, I would be an absolute idiot. Of course it isn’t. But it does suck. It sucks a lot. A lot, a lot. The last few months have been pretty awful, but for some reason, this has been the worst week of them. 

Y/N is just  _so_  happy. It’s driving me nuts.

I blame it mostly on Halloween. If Halloween hadn’t happened the way it did, maybe everything would be different and the other things would matter less.

That night, Y/N and I were supposed to meet MJ and Ned at Ned’s apartment before going to Betty’s party. (Ned forced us into it, I didn’t really want to go in the first place.)

Anyway, Y/N came to my apartment first so we could walk to Ned’s together. Just as I answered the door, MJ sent something to our group snapchat. The little popcorn sound echoed between us as I let Y/N inside. I pulled out my phone.

“It’s from MJ,” I said, opening it.

MJ, dressed as someone from the 1700s judging by the bonnet, was perched on the back of Ned’s couch and holding a whip outside an open window; Ned was in the background, running toward her from the hallway. He was wearing an Indiana Jones costume and his signature  _Don’t you dare, MJ!_  face. 

I laughed.

“Look, MJ’s already tormenting Ned with his own costume,” I said, showing Y/N the picture before it disappeared.

“What?”

She looked at the screen and froze.

“It’s a costume party?”

I thought she knew, especially since Ned talked about it so much. I hadn’t planned a costume, but that’s because I was hoping if I showed up to Ned’s without one, he might tell me not to come at all. I guess it made sense though. I’d been wondering all week what she was planning to wear. I thought I even asked her at one point. Maybe not. Yeah. I wouldn’t have wanted her to think I was being weird.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t have a costume either.”

She groaned.

“No, I should’ve paid more attention to Ned when he told me about it. I’ve been so… so out of it and distracted lately, and I can’t let him down like this. I know how much it means to him. I told him just an hour ago that I was completely ready for tonight. I can’t believe myself.”

I tried to console her a bit, make jokes and lighten the mood. But she was kind of right. Ned had been talking about it a lot and she had seemed pretty distracted the last couple weeks. Plus, we only had an hour before we needed to leave.

I remember wishing May were home. She would know how to help. But she must’ve been busy because she didn’t answer any of my texts.

As Y/N beat herself up for being unprepared, she kept pacing and wringing her hands. Then, she stopped.

“I always told myself I would never ask this,” she said slowly, “but Peter, can I… try on the suit?”

I always told myself I would never let my friends try the suit on. I didn’t want it to get complicated. I mean, once you get a hang of the suit, it’s kind of addicting.

In that moment though, I  _wanted_  to let her. She tends to get stressed when she isn’t one hundred percent on top of things and this was definitely one of those times. I thought it would help distract her while I came up with costume ideas. And maybe another reason I didn’t want to admit to myself yet.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I let you try it out?”

She shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging upward. I smiled immediately, like a reflex. I could tell she was getting excited. Weirdly, I felt excited too. I told myself it was a reaction to feeling helpful.

“I just thought Ned said something about it once. Like you were overprotective of it or whatever.”

“Pff, no way.” I tried to be nonchalant. “Ned is always saying crazy things.”

That wasn’t true and we both knew it. Awkward things, occasionally. Crazy, not so much.

I dug the suit out of my bag and tossed it to her.

While I waited out in the living room for her to change, I heard a sharp  _thud_  from my room. I ran to the door.

“Uh, you okay in there?”

An  _oomf_  later, she replied, “Yeah. I just tripped a little. The suit’s fine! Hit my funny bone, that’s all.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Not for the suit, obviously. It can take a beating.

A minute later, she called my name. Her voice carried a distinct… reluctance.

Outside the door again, I offered up a, “Yeah?”

I know, I know. I’m an idiot.

“Um, how exactly does this work? I can’t figure out how to make it not so… baggy.”

“Hit the spider.”

“Hit… the spider?”

“Yeah. In the middle?”

She groaned and opened the door.

I had to shove down the laughter rising in my throat. She was in the suit and holding it up by the collar, clutching it to her chest. That was the first time I realized how short she is. I would notice it a lot more after this whenever she stood next to me, Ned, or better yet, MJ. Y/N is short enough to wear the suit and practically swim in it.

At that moment, Y/N was _helpless_.

“‘Hit the spider.’ Really? What does that even mean?”

Her confusion was amusing, but how could she not see the black spider symbol right under her hand?

“Ignoring how ridiculous you look, which, by the way, is  _off the charts ridiculous_ , it means,” I said, stepping forward. “Hit. The. Spider.”

I lightly punched the spider symbol, as if it was a fist bump.

Probably a stupid idea, seeing as it was situated sort of… right between her, um, breasts?

Makes sense that she screamed a bit.

“Jesus! Are you serious? More of a warning would have been nice!”

The suit can be shocking if you aren’t used to it snapping like that. I’ve gotta admit, I was not used to it snapping on her. On me, yeah. Of course. But on her… not at all. Luckily she was too engrossed in the suit to have noticed my expression. I remember thinking,  _it definitely doesn’t look so ridiculous on you anymore_.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, looking at her arms as she turned them here and there. “This is so weird.”

She moved her shoulders a bit as if testing mobility, then her fingers, toes, legs.

“This is… the weirdest sensation. I can’t tell if I hate it or if I love it.”

Actually, that’s probably the best way to describe how I’ve been feeling since then.

That night, we never ended up going to the party. Y/N called Ned to explain that she didn’t have a costume and he immediately said it was alright if we didn’t make it. Something about, “MJ is already enough to handle at the moment.”

Instead, we stayed in and watched  _Lord of the Rings_  while Y/N kept experimenting with the suit. Testing different web shooters (she nearly destroyed my closet), watching Spider-Man Youtube videos in the mask and mocking my “poses” (for the record, I do not pose… as often as those videos suggest), and talking to Karen (they got on immediately). Once she started asking Karen personal questions, like her first one about me: “What does Peter talk to you about every day?” I decided it was time to end her Spider Time.

(Yes, I was worried Karen would tell her how often I talked about her - but to be fair, she is my friend.  _Obviously_  I talk to Karen about her a lot. I just couldn’t figure out why it was more than Ned or Aunt May or MJ. And Karen had plenty of ideas I knew she would love to tell Y/N about.)

“That’s enough! Karen, say goodbye now!” I hurried.

“Really, Peter? We just started a real conversation. You didn’t tell me the system was a person! I’ve been so rude - I’m so sorry, Karen, if I had known-”

“Come on,” I begged. “I’m being serious. I don’t want the suit to be a thing with everyone. Better to stop now, before you get… attached.”

“Attached?” The left eye of the mask widened to match her sarcasm. “Worried I’ll steal it and hide in a cave, stroking the fabric? My  _precious_  Spidey suit?”

“Very funny,” I said. “And you just said, ‘ _My_ ,’ so clearly, you are being affected!”

I reached across, about to hit the spider, when I realized exactly what the suit would do if I did, and pulled back.

_Not a good time to accidentally see her naked._

I swear, I didn’t mean to think that. But that idea - of one of my best friends, that way, in my room - took me off guard. Like a massive idiot, I jerked back too quickly. My ankle hit hers and she fell on top of me, simultaneously hitting the spider and setting off a series of awkward movements in which she tried to hold the suit together and I tried not to, well, see too much. (I saw a tiny bit, not going to lie.)

On the t.v., the Watcher in the Water began attacking Frodo, so the chaos of fiction and real life blended together in the worst way possible. The screaming from the movie made our own awkward grunts and “ _Sorry!_ ”’s more intimate by contrast. Mostly it was just weird because she was practically drowning in the deflated Spider suit and as we moved against each other, trying to get  _off_  of each other, it wasn’t much of a barrier between us. Plus, the baggy mask on her face was a weird addition to the situation.

After untangling herself from me, she stood up gingerly and pulled the mask off. Her hair was a nest, a soft I-wish-I-could-reach-out-and-feel-it-moving-through-my-fingers kind of nest.

“D-do you mind if I change now?”

My mouth gaped.  _Here? Now?_

“I mean, if I have to call May to escort you out, I do have her on speed dial.”

_Without me here. Duh._

“Yeah. S-sorry. I’ll just, um, get up then.”

I must have looked like an idiot, staring at her from the flat of my back on the floor, practically spread eagle. Sliding past her to the door, I swear I noticed blush on her cheeks. Then again, my own face was burning. But then  _again_ , that was because I realized I liked her. Like really, really liked her. So maybe her blush meant she liked me too?

That was Halloween.

Six months later, that memory plays back almost every day. On top of six months worth of other memories. She’s  _there_ , in my head, all the time. Simple things, like her ridiculous victory dance when she wins Scrabble or her helping Aunt May make dinner (and when it comes to food, she helps  _a lot_  - in terms of taste and frequency) or even Karen telling me that she sent me a text, they all make my chest hammer. It’s the absolute worst, all variables considered.

I don’t know. This week has been weird. Seeing her so excited reminds me of how she looked trying on the suit which reminds me of everything else from that night and how I’ve never worked up the courage to just ask if it meant anything. Knowing that it’s way, way too late to ask now makes me a bundle of nerves and serious regret. Plus, her unguarded joy and enthusiasm itself…. It’s a lot to take in. Sensory overload or something. It’s like, I catch a glimpse of her teeth as she’s laughing and my brain spirals into  _One Hundred and One Ways I Could Make Her Laugh If She Was In Love With Me Instead_  or  _Ten Kissing Scenarios In Which She’s So Happy We Can’t Kiss Properly Beca_ use  _We’re Smiling Too Much_. This week, these imaginary scenes keep getting out of control. It’s driving me nuts.

I need to stop thinking about her. It’s impossible when we’re always together, though. All of us. I can’t tell which is worse: when it’s just us, or when it’s us and MJ. And Ned, obviously.

So the last few days, I tried to keep a smidge of distance. Yesterday was particularly rough. Ned and MJ convinced her to skip a bunch of classes with them. They sent me dozens of snapchats, half trying to rope me in, half reporting on their adventures. (My favorite was when they nicknamed Flash an Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy. Or maybe it was the video of Ned where he dissolved into a fit of laughter because he couldn’t say the phrase more than twice without messing it up.)

At the end of the day, because we all have Psych in seventh hour, I may have annoyed them by leaving  _that_  class early. I couldn’t help it. Y/N was so  _stupid crazy beautiful_  happy and it was agonizing to watch her scribble notes back and forth with MJ, her pen clicking in the almost dark as she did everything she could to not laugh and disrupt the episode of  _Mind Games_ playing on the screen. I had to get out of there before I got, like, a boner or something.

That was weird. And graphic.

God, it’s such a mess. _I’m_ such a mess.

The point is, I need to stop thinking about her like that and just forget what happened yesterday and this morning and six months ago.

That being said, it’s not exactly easy when she’s been pissing me off the last few days. This stuff with MJ and Flash is starting to seriously eat away at me. Some of it isn’t her fault, and I’m trying to work through that on my own, but plenty of it  _is_  and I can’t tell if she even cares how I (or Ned) feel about it.

I hate these secrets.


	6. Part 6

Halfway through unpacking my things, I realize Michelle is right. I have to talk to Peter. Now. Especially if the pool is still a plan for tonight. 

When I tell Michelle so, she nods but doesn’t look up from her book. (She mentioned it a minute ago and promised to lend it to me when she finished; consequently, the moment she dug it out, she decided to put off unpacking and read instead.) I toss my bag on my bed and go to the hallway.

I knock on the boys’ door.

Ned answers.

“Hey Y/N. Wow, I haven’t seen you in a whole-” he looks at his watch, “seven minutes!”

“Can I have a quick minute with Peter?” I ask.

“Are you really asking me to step out of my own room?”

“You can get on my laptop and message Betty from my Facebook. Ask what she’s up to. Maybe mention yourself, see what she says?”

“What, why wou- I don’t- can’t you just- I mean, honestly.”

“I put the little knob thingy in the door, so it’s open if you want to go do that.”

Ned considers the idea. 

“Actually, that’s a violation of trust. Not cool. But I will go chill in your room. I need to talk to MJ anyway.”

_Talk to MJ without me?_

“Wait, why?”

“Um, there’s just… a thing. Anyway. Yeah. Hey, Peter!” Ned opens the door all the way and shouts behind his shoulder. “The stripper’s here!”

“The what?” I ask, bewildered. “Why-why would you say that?”

Ned shakes his head, hands open.

“Dude, I don’t know! I just- I need to go! Bye!”

Ned shoves me out of his way and into the room.

“Ned, the what?” Peter says, jumping into frame from their bathroom.

_God, my face must be red._

“I’m a stripper now?”

“You’re a- you’re a what, now?”

Peter’s eyebrows nearly graze his hairline. My face is definitely warm.

“Nothing. Ned was just being really… weird. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

I close the door and walk over to Ned’s bed, thinking Peter will sit across from me on his. He doesn’t. He stays, standing next to their closet.

“About this morning. With Flash. Do you want me to… say anything, to Mr. Harrington?”

“Wh- no, no, definitely not. It’s nothing. I- I don’t even know why you’re bringing it up. It’s not like he can hurt me, obviously.”

“Physically, I know, I just mean that you shouldn-”

“Can we just forget about it?”

“Absolutely, if that’s what you want. And last night, with dinner-”

“And maybe that too? I was a dick. I’m really sorry. I kind of feel like I almost ruined your night and that would have been awful because I know you were excited.”

_You were excited too, remember?_

“It’s fine. Is everything okay with you though? The last few days were… odd.”

He runs his hands through his hair and clasps them behind his head. He makes a face like he’s trying to remember if he’s had any minor inconveniences recently. He avoids eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s, ah, everything is… normal.”

_Everything is not normal, Peter._

“Peter, I….” I want to say that I don’t believe him, that he shouldn’t have to put up with how Flash treats him. I want to say that he can talk to me. “I’ll go back to my room. You probably have more to unpack.”

I start to get up.

“Eh, not really.”

I pause. Does he want me to stay? Is he going to tell me why he’s been so an-arm’s-length-away this week? 

“But if, um, you could tell Ned that I wanna talk to him, I’d appreciate it.”

He half-smiles. 

_“Tomorrow, I’m either going to hug him or kill him.”_

It’s tomorrow and I’m leaning toward kill. Killing all of my friends.  _What does everyone need to talk about without me?_

But that won’t get Peter (or anyone) to talk to me about whatever’s bothering him (or them).

So I end up doing a stupid thing. As I pass Peter on my way to leave, I turn around, pivoting on my heels like a robot programmed for a sharp corner, and I hug him. I just latch on like a parasite. It’s a pretty tight hug. Especially for two people who don’t hug a lot. Or ever. Except when May made us this morning. 

He smells so good. I know from half-living at his apartment that it’s Old Spice deodorant, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking how much I associate it with the word home (or from thinking how awkward that thought is in the first place). Peter and home remind me of warmth and comfort and fireplaces and being okay.

_Last night he was close enough to kiss me, then with the way he looked at me before I rambled about the dirt, and now this. I’m self-sabotaging my Stop Thinking About Peter mission._

He jerks back at first, but after a second he’s  _almost_  leaning into it. His hands are cautiously, sort of, patting my back. O _h, fuck me. I had to make this weirder. Why not make it worse?_  I squeeze him harder. It’s meant as a “You’re my friend and I love you more than you realize, so please, please, please, trust me - talk to me” squeeze. I’m not sure it comes through, since he doesn’t do it back. Or move at all. He clearly wants it over with.

Thoroughly embarrassed, I pull away and beeline to the door. Neither of us say a word.

_Oh my god. I… I don’t know why I did that._

 

During the ten seconds I stand in the hallway between our two doors with my hands on my head thinking about how stupid I am, I decide not to tell Ned or Michelle about this awkward hug. If they ask me about it later, then I’ll know Peter is willing to talk to them and not me… or that they really are all communicating without me and it’s not just my paranoia. Then… I’ll just need to figure out why. 

_Maybe they’re sick of you._

_Or maybe you’re overreacting._

Ten seconds up, I turn quickly to push my door open.

It’s locked. My key card is sitting on my bed, next to my bag. 

“MJ?” I call, knocking. “Ned? Can you guys let me in?”

Nothing. I press my ear against the door. They’re definitely having a conversation.

“Guys, seriously. Please let me in.”

I really don’t want Peter to hear this and open his door right now.

Ned answers, his voice a bit distant.

“Just hold on a second! I need a minute with MJ.”

“It’s been a minute! It’s been like five minutes!”

“Only three, dude.”

I jiggle the door handle and bang my head against the door.

“Let me in, please.” 

I stay silent a moment and hear a phone dialing somewhere past the door.  _Seriously?_ Are they calling Peter now? When did my friends become such secret-keepers? (I know, I know. That’s rhetorical.)

I press my ear to the door. All I can hear is a muffled cloud of hushed conversation. Whatever is going on, I know Ned and Michelle well enough to know that I could be out here for a while, so I sit.

A door opens. 

But it’s not mine and it’s not Peter’s. It’s at the opposite end of the hall. 

Flash.

_No, no, no, no, no. Not right now._

I’m too lost with this new, weird exclusion dynamic at the moment. I’m not going to let Flash anger me. So when I scramble and jump up, I try a knock on Peter’s door.

“Hey, Y/N!” Flash shouts.

_Open the door, open the door, open the door._

Thank God, the door opens.

It’s only slightly ajar, but I can see Peter with a phone up to his ear.

“Hey, um, I’ve got a call.”

The door closes.

_Fuck._

* * *

Needless to say, Flash had the opportunity to get at me, and he did. For the whole seven minutes I was locked out, he had a lot of observations to make. Mostly, “Oh my God, are you locked out of  _your own room_? And isn’t that Ned and Peter’s room? They won’t let you in either?  _Ha!_  That’s a weird place to be, huh? They’ve seemed really secretive around you lately. Lots of texting and side conversations when you’re not around. Then that dinner thing where you’re Silent Sally the whole time. Hey, why’s Penis Parker so mad at you, huh? You’ve looked like such a lost dog the last couple days. You know, the kind whose owners dropped it off in the middle of a road, but it doesn’t get the hint and keeps searching for them?”

Rule #1 of being anywhere in Flash’s vicinity:  _Never listen to Flash_.

If I had to choose between my three best friends and Flash, I would always choose my friends. No matter the circumstances. No matter the repercussions. I just don’t get why Flash’s regularly shitty behavior is somehow reassuring. At least I know what to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> The next update is tomorrow: October 14. This will be the "shit goes down" chapter, around 3k words.   
> If you have questions, comments, or criticisms, please leave a comment - I would love to get feedback of any sort.  
> Thank you so much to those who've left kudos and comments. I appreciate it so much more than I can ever say!  
> \- Jane
> 
> P.S. You can find me on Tumblr at wordsinwinters if you would rather read it there. If you want me to tag you in updates, just shoot me a message!


	7. Part 7

I often expect too much, set my sights a little too high. I know this, so I always prepare myself in case nothing goes according to plan.

For example: I had hoped this second annual break-into-the-hotel-pool activity would be easy, that everyone would come willingly, and we would have fun before the tournament tomorrow. Still, I prepared myself for a few bumps. For example, if Peter refused, if the entire thing flopped because everyone was worried about getting enough sleep, or if someone in the hotel caught us and reported it to Mr. Harrington, I was prepared.

Strangely enough, everyone crept out on time and Peter barely hesitated at all. Well, Michelle  _did_  force him from the start and head off his first protest too quickly for him to find another: “Dude, just say you’ve been working out. Nobody’s going to get suspicious because you’re jacked. Even Flash can’t turn that,” she motioned to Peter’s entire body, “into a joke.”

Yet I’m more uneasy now than if everything had gone wrong. I’m not even concerned about getting caught. Mr. Harrington is watching Jurassic Park in his room and checking the hallway at ten-minute intervals and I’m almost certain the hotel staff knows we’re here, but doesn’t care.

Nevertheless, I’m just… anxious.

It might have to do with how the boys are stacked upon one another in the shallow end for Chicken and, given the small area of the pool, injuries are on the table. It might have to do with Flash’s new habit of winking at me and being, in general, maddeningly obnoxious. It might also have to do with the fact that my friends are being abnormally secretive. (I hate to use Flash’s words, but he’s sort of right. It’s the best description. Even once I got back in my room, MJ and Ned kept sending texts - I have no idea who to, though I would  _guess_  between them and Peter.)

Admittedly, my nerves might also be connected to Liz, whose face I can see across the water. As our Captain, Michelle thought it would be nice to Facetime her, ask about college, and show her that her pool idea has become a tradition.

Liz’s dorm room is beautiful, from what I can make out. She has calendars and planners neatly pinned up with Christmas lights to outline them. Photos hang from mini clothespins on a string and she even has a little library set up on her windowsill with a porcelain cat-shaped bookend. It’s like a freaking Pinterest photo. I’ve always been somewhat jealous of her, but I know that outside of some old disagreement and my envy for her style and Peter’s (old? current?) crush on her, I am glad she seems happy. Everyone knows how much she’s been going through.

As Abe and Peter pretend to duke it out on Flash and Ned’s shoulders, the light of Liz from Michelle’s phone skips through the ripples, illuminating them  _just so_. I keep zoning out and staring at the pattern. I feel weird staying on the other side of the pool with her there, but I don’t know Liz that well outside of the team and truth be told, she always intimidated me. She just… has things together. Even now. She’s wonderful and precise and good in every way a person can be. I feel minuscule by comparison.

Then again, it might be the overwhelming smell of chlorine that’s getting into my head and putting me off. Plus, all the glints of light swimming across the glass walls - making them reflect further like a hall of mirrors - are beginning to strain my eyes. Part of me just wants to sleep. To climb out from the water, change into some pajamas, and go to bed and forget this.

But I can’t. So I tread water alone in the corner, watching and listening and feeling like an idiot for isolating myself.

_Does anyone want you here in the first place?_

_Stop thinking like that._

I try to listen to Liz’s voice as a distraction. It’s muffled with echo, but it’s audible.

“With my AP scores, a bunch of my gen ed credits are already taken care of. But I want to take my other gen eds seriously. I have Global Ethics, Statistics, and World Journalism on Mondays and Wednesdays, then Into to Biological Chemistry and Public Relations on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

The words bounce from wall to wall, shadowing splashes and voices and little bright doses of laughter from the boys. I close my eyes for three seconds as if to catalog the moment. I have to admit, it’s pretty much perfect.

_Then why do I feel so nervous?_

In the same way that some days just feel so  _good_ , some nights just really,  _really_ don’t.

Flash catches my eye.  _God, here we go_. He’s smirking.

“Hey!” he calls. “Y/N, you should join in! Hold on, let me clear you a spot.”

He jerks his body back to make Abe fall from his shoulders, hitting the water with a hard splash.

“There, now you have a place to sit,” Flash says, patting his own shoulders.

Abe stands up, shaking water from his ears before shoving Flash underwater. Ned laughs as Flash comes back up sputtering. Peter, on Ned’s shoulders, has little reaction. Michelle rolls her eyes and turns back to the girls’ conversation.

“It’s more fun watching, trust me.”  _Watching Peter shirtless_ , my brain adds.

 _Stop thinking about him_. Despite his smile this morning (it was idiotic of me to think it meant anything significant), Peter has remained pretty cold to me today.  _Just like everyone else._

Michelle looks back our way again.

“Y/N and I will play,” she decides.

If I had more energy, if I weren’t feeling so despondent, and if it wasn’t her  _this-is-happening-don’t-argue_  voice, I might put up a better fight. Instead, I give a quiet defeated groan and make my way over to the shallow end. Most times it’s easier to do as she says.

“Michelle in a chicken fight?” Liz laughs, her voice reverberating on all sides of my head. “I can’t wait to see this.”

“Oh, no,” Michelle answers as she shakes her head. “Y/N is up top. I’m not getting involved in that business.”

I sigh.

“Abe, mind if I fight Flash this round?” I ask.

If I have to do this, I want to be against the one person I wouldn’t mind actually fighting.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Abe says. “I’m sick of him. Plus, if he has the chance, I know he’ll piss on me.”

Despite my exhaustion, I can’t help laughing a little. It’s definitely true. But if Abe sits out, there’s no chance that Ned or Peter will team up with Flash.

Flash knows this too. Shrugging, he follows Abe away from the center, saying hello to Liz.

_Shit._

I climb onto Michelle’s shoulders, the air making me shiver, my ankles hanging just low enough to stay in the warm water. I stare blankly at the situation. It’s me and Michelle, Peter and Ned. And I’ve barely spoken to them since they all locked me out earlier.  _I wouldn’t want to disrupt their texting._

I do my best not to tug Michelle’s hair as I steady myself.

_Now what?_

Everybody else is talking again, Liz included. I’m glad their attention is elsewhere.

Staring at Peter, who’s staring at me, it’s clear neither of us knows what to do. Things have definitely gotten stale and weird between us over the last day, and weirder still over the last few hours. I feel like an idiot. But I’d be a moron to think it’s all because of that stupid hug. Something in our friendship is stuttering, I can feel it faltering and falling away.

Abruptly unstable ground - that’s what it is, I realize, looking at him. And everybody has been able to see it coming but me. How else could  _Flash_  see it?

Thinking of all the shitty ways Peter has ignored me today, yesterday, and this past week, I shove him with as much force as I can muster, knowing it’ll be nothing to him anyway.

Peter’s legs are over his head a moment later. If it were a real fall, it would have been instant. The rippling disturbance of the water churns up more chlorine fumes. I can feel a headache germinating at the base of my skull.

“Come on, Peter,” I say while he stands and pushes wet hair out of his eyes. “Don’t pretend to let me win.”

“You caught me off guard,” he says. All of the prior playful attitude he had with Abe is gone. He’s trying - I can actually see him trying - to seem blank.

_What is his problem with me?_

“No, I didn’t. Don’t lie. Get back up.”

He does. Ned’s expression is unreadable for once. Michelle pats my leg.

Ned and Michelle actually move around this time, both stepping to one side or the other with half steps back and forward. Peter keeps his hands on his knees, looking bored and glancing from MJ to her phone behind us.  _He won’t even look at me._

It pisses me off.

Michelle rolls one shoulder before lunging forward - a little hint. I shove Peter again, now resenting how stiff his muscles are beneath his stupid skin. And again he falls sideways, though faster this time.

Flash is whooping and making some stupid comment. Liz gives a surprised, “Oh, wow.” Sally and Cindy are talking, but I can’t tell whether it’s to me or someone else. Peter’s splash is echoing too much to hear a lot at the moment.

He stands up. His hands go to his hair. He looks at me and shrugs like  _Got me again, I guess._

The chlorine scent is hanging heavily over the room now like a pillow being slowly forced into my face. My headache pulses and creeps up behind my ear, beating my bone like a thick drum.

“Peter,” I say, teeth grinding, “this is going to get boring pretty quickly if you keep this up.  _Push back._  Don’t you dare ‘let me win.’ I’m serious.”

My jaw is clenching as I try to pack my anger down into a little box between my ribs. A pressurized numbness climbs up my throat.

_Shove it down._

Peter says nothing in reply but mounts Ned’s shoulders again. Ned is looking at Michelle, and though I can’t see her face, I know they’re having a silent conversation.

I nudge Michelle with my heel and she lunges forward again. I shove Peter’s left shoulder as hard as I can. Both shoulders hit the water at the same time. I know that no matter how hard I could ever hit him, it wouldn’t bother him a bit, yet the fact he’s clearly not even  _trying_  to play this  _one_  game that he was just playing with Flash and Abe is burning and biting at my tongue.

Peter stands lazily as if silently offering a forfeit.

_Maybe he wants to get this game over with so he can talk to Liz._

“Get up, Peter,” I say as frustration spreads like fire through the ligaments of my arms. My irritation has reached my hairline.

Last week, I would never have doubted my friendship with Peter. Suddenly, I’m almost certain he wants nothing to do with me anymore. It scares me. A familiar dense pain pools in my lungs, a physical weight knocking my ribs into one another.

_How did everything go so wrong so quickly?_

Peter doesn’t move. I could kill him.

“Peter! Get up! Fight back,  _do something!_ This isn’t funny anymore. Why won’t you just  _do something?_ ”

At last, he looks me straight in the eye.

“What?” he shoots back. “What do you want me to do?”

He’s angry now too, blatantly. It’s worse than last night. I can see it, a red patch of irritation growing from his chest up to his neck. Neither of us has ever gotten like this. We’re not the kind of people who do. Not with one another, and certainly not in front of other people.

It’s a violently refreshing change: honesty.

“Anything! Stop messing around,” I say. “Just play the fucking  _game_.”

“Maybe I’m sick of it,” he says, his hands open. “This whole stupid idea! I’m not playing anymore.”

What is he talking about?  _It’s been barely a_  minute _of this game._

“MJ,” I say, “let me down.”

“Alright.”

She jerks back like Flash did to Abe. The water stings through my nostrils and the lining of my lungs.  _Is this just MJ being MJ or is she angry at me, too? And what about Ned, could he be mad at me?_

_What have they all been calling and texting each other about?_

I wipe water from my face and open my eyes, stinging.

“Come on, Peter, play a game,” I mock, moving closer to him. He just  _stands_ there. “ _Play a game_.”

I’ve been playing some sort of game for at least 24 hours now, maybe over a week, maybe even longer. He can too.

Peter doesn’t move a millimeter. I shove him. Nothing. His expression remains blank. He doesn’t fall, he doesn’t budge.

“ _Peter!_ ”

I shove him again.

Nothing.

Michelle and Ned are creeping out of the water. Their waves are the only sound besides my echoing shout in the whole room.  _God, this is bad_. I know starting some kind of fight isn’t going to increase my chances of leaving D.C. with any friends, but I almost can’t stop myself. I have to do  _something_.

I move closer, face burning with an itch of fury.

“ _What?_ ” he says.

Michelle and Ned, blurry reflections I can see from the glass wall behind Peter, have grabbed their towels and are walking through the door.

_Damn it. Where are they going?_

Something is crushing inside my chest. I can feel my eyes brimming with tears.

 _Shove. Them. Down._  I will not angry cry in front of my classmates right now. Absolutely not. Especially not with Flash and Liz here.

My hands start shaking instead as I grapple for a reply.

“Just- just  _do something_ , Peter!”

The muscles in his jaw are working and pulsing. I wonder what words he’s chewing - of course, I’ll likely never know because it seems Peter is refusing to tell me  _anything_.

“That’s just it!” he shouts back. “ _What do you want me to do?!_ ”

That something in my chest is spasming, collapsing.

Peter’s chest is heaving and the red has reached his face. His words are fogging up my already pounding head.

_That’s just it. What do you want me to do?_

There are too many people here and as I notice their reflections standing over Peter’s shoulders with eyes glued to his face and my back, I realize I’ve just lost them too. In only the span of a couple minutes. The understanding hits me over the head and slices through my gut.  _I’ve ruined everything with everyone here, not just Peter and Ned and Michelle. They’ve never seen me like this and it’s too late to pretend to reverse it. There’s no way I’ll leave this trip with any friends._

It takes every particle of concentration to not let my emotions get the better of me and cry; especially when I’m still staring at Peter. The brown of his eyes seems darker than I’ve ever seen before and his brow is knotted up, hard.

The moment is so still and static.

Without warning, Peter smacks the water in front of me with one hand. It’s like a lukewarm tidal wave washing over my head, tangling my hair across my face.

My nose and lungs burn again. I gasped at the wrong second. In less than a moment though, it’s doused my nerves. I suddenly feel smaller than a child, humiliated.

“Are you  _kidding?_ ”

I don’t know if he or anyone hears me. The question was quiet and overcome by countless echoing splashes. It’s for the best: nobody can see my chin shaking at this distance so maybe if they didn’t hear the crack in my voice, I can pull myself together.

Guilt and regret seep into my skin as Peter climbs out of the pool. I want to apologize, but apologize for what? And fear, fear is mixing with those other emotions. A mountain of blurred emotions coated in black dread and red fear.

I take a breath and turn around.

_Fuck._

Cindy, Sally, Abe, and Flash are just… staring. Worse, Liz is too.  _Of course, Michelle forgets her phone this one time._

The door closes with a  _bang_  behind Peter.

His towel is slung over one shoulder and water droplets spatter across the hallway floor as he storms through it. If I could get over him, if I could stop thinking about him for  _one day_ , stop thinking about him for  _one minute_ , my heart rate wouldn’t be leaping off the charts as I watch him. Actually, my heart rate might just be a result of me realizing how serious this is. The fact that four faces are still staring, now waiting for me to explode, likely doesn’t help slow it down either.

“Guys,” Liz’s voice calls. “Come on. Don’t make this weird.”

Flash laughs. Hard.

“It’s super weird completely on its own! Man, what  _was_  that?”

Tension loosening its hold on the room, Flash is back to himself, looking astonished and amused beyond belief.

“Flash, seriously. Let it be,” Liz snaps at him. When she looks at me, her expression softens. “Don’t let Peter Parker get in your head. He can… be like that sometimes. He might just be going through something.”

 _I know what he’s like_ , I think.  _I’ve been friends with him for longer than one Homecoming date_. Liz is trying, at least, and I do appreciate the thought.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding.

She mirrors the motion.

“I should go before my roommate gets back to study. And Y/N, if you ever want to talk, I’d like to hear from you again. From any of you guys. Anyway, good luck everyone! I’m sure tomorrow will be great.”

The room dissolves into  _Goodbye!_ ’s. I use the distraction to get my towel and phone and slip out.

_What have I done?_


	8. Part 8

_What have I done?_

Real blade-in-the-belly fear is tying me up with this question.

I’ve probably ruined the best friendships I’ve ever had within minutes. It’s been building up, apparently, but I broke it tonight. Me. All me.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did I have to act like that? Fuck._

I’m shaking as I head up the stairs to our floor, chlorine fumes still clinging to my skin and towel. My limbs feel numb. I’m slightly nervous I might fumble over my feet and fall down the steps. I consider stopping to just let out a couple tears; the pressure is nearing unbearable. It’s not like anyone will find me. Everyone else will be taking the elevator. Unless, of course, they think avoiding hotel staff is important.  _Shit._

I keep moving.

All I can pray for now is that Michelle doesn’t hate me and she’ll tell me what’s been going on with everything, or at least some part of it. Any part of it. This invisible conflict is suffocating.

Out of breath, I reach the third floor and push the door open, ready to talk this through with her.

Peter’s banging on our door. Inside the partial moment before he realizes I’m here, a faint pinprick of hope thinks he might be there for me.

“Ned, MJ, I’m not messing around. This is the  _least_  funny thing you could do right now.”

The stairwell door clangs closed behind me. Peter looks over, sees me, and rolls his eyes as he knocks again, harder.

Nobody answers from my and Michelle’s room - a semi-serious inconvenience for me, seeing as she has my keycard. I notice a note on Peter and Ned’s door. Reluctant, given Peter’s proximity, I walk forward and pick it off, hands trembling.

“Work yourselves out - MJ & Ned.”

Under this, on the floor, are two keycards. Obviously to this room, or else Peter would have used them on my door.

_Shit._

“Have they answered at all?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek.

“No.”

Peter stares at the door. It’s evident, very evident, that he’s still upset, though now he appears to have anger reserved for Michelle and Ned, too.

_Do you really hate me so much that you can’t stand to be in the same room as me?_

My mouth tastes like metal. God, I want to cry. But I won’t, not in front of Peter, not like this.

“I’m going in before Mr. Harrington checks the hall or Flash shows up.”

Keeping a tight grasp on my towel, I bend down, grab a keycard from the floor, and use it. I open the door.

_Oh, shit._

Now I understand Peter’s reaction.

Ned and Michelle have taken out one of the beds and moved the other to the center of the room. It stands alone between the door and window. The covers are suggestively pulled down halfway.

I pause in the doorway, a blush flaring in my cheeks.

For months, I’ve daydreamed about similar scenarios. A night in which Ned and Michelle fall asleep in the living room so I have to sleep in Peter’s. (Two beds, but still - a similar concept.) Or else Peter and I watch a movie on the couch and fall asleep cuddled up for the night, May placing a blanket over us like some form of blessing. (May’s approval is always critical to these imaginary scenarios.) Sometimes, I just daydream about falling asleep on his shoulder while we’re riding the subway, his sweater warm against my cheek.

Countless simple situations in which I share a tiny dose of intimacy with this best friend who rarely leaves my mind. For a split-second, I imagine things aren’t as they are tonight and there’s a tingle of excitement tickling under my jaw.

“You gonna move?”

Peter’s voice startles me. I didn’t hear him walk up.

I move, into the room. Just as I start to feel jittery and consider whether or not to text Ned or Michelle (I realize my clothes are in the other room), my phone dings.

“Ned: It’s MJ. Your clothes and makeup bag are in the bathroom. Toothbrush and charger included. Love you and see you in the morning. (Good luck.)”

Relief sweeps under my feet and fills me head to toe.  _Love you and see you in the morning._  Thank God. Michelle and I good. We’re definitely good. _It’s fine with her, things are going to be alright with her. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You haven’t lost MJ._

It dings again.

“Ned: it’s Ned. what MJ said. but from me too.”

God, I wish I could hug Ned through the wall separating us. His nine words are a monumental comfort, more than he likely realizes.  _Ned isn’t leaving either. You guys are okay, it’s going to be okay with him. Ned isn’t going anywhere._  I really might cry now.

“Who’s messaging you?” Peter asks, arms crossed. Again, his voice startles me.

He’s standing by the door, opposite from my stance at the window.

“MJ and Ned.”

Peter shakes his head, hands digging into his hair as he looks to the ceiling while biting the inside of his cheek.

“Are you serious?”

“They were letting me know where my things were.” His attitude is pushing me to the edge of anger again. “It’s not a big deal.”

This, evidently, is the wrong thing to say.

“Yes, it is! Do you really not get why this bothers me?”

 

For once, he makes eye contact. He looks half furious and half hurt.

“Peter, what are you talking about?”

His frustration mounts. He glances at the floor with his hands clenched together before shaking his head again and looking me straight in the eye.

“You guys are  _constantly_  doing this shit,” he says, arms open. “You and MJ with these neverending side conversations. You know, it’s beyond frustrating that you two know  _everything_  about me, yet you guys have your own codes and your own stupid languages that you use to keep secrets from me and Ned. You guys are  _always_  having a private conversation. Passing notes to each other in class under the table, sending text messages during our freaking dinner, tapping your fingers on a chair to signal  _whatever_. It’s irritating! I know what you guys are trying to hide. We’re all supposed to be  _friends_ , that means not keeping secrets like that. Why haven’t you guys just told me and Ned?”

_Hiding what? God, please don’t let this mean Ned knows somehow._

“Told you and Ned what?” I ask. “Yes, we text each other sometimes when we’re all together but don’t act like you and Ned aren’t closer to each other too. You guys are less industrious about it, that’s all. There’s a reason May talks to him privately without me and MJ - it’s because you trust him more and May knows she can’t tell us everything like she does him. And I don’t blame anybody for that, but I don’t think it’s fair for you to hold me and MJ up to a double standard. Plus, you and her and Ned have been messaging each other without me  _all_  day! That’s a _hell_  of a double standard, considering. What was all of it about, Peter?”

“We didn- I mean, one time is beside the point. And it’s not a double standard with me and Ned because it’s completely different!” Peter’s hands are in the air and his face is reddening. I start to protest but he doesn’t even hesitate. “I mean, Ned and I have been friends way longer while you!- you and MJ are dating and trying to hide it from us!”

My brain hits a cement wall.

“Wait, what? You think we’re -”

“Come on, this game is over! It’s been obvious for  _ages_  and I really don’t get why it’s even a secret in the first place. Did you think it would bother us? The only part of it that bothers me is the fact that I l- th-that you guys kept it a-a secret. From  _me_.”

I stammer momentarily, lost in an attempt to unravel his train of thought.

“We aren’t - this isn’t - I mean,  _honestly_? How long have you thought that MJ and I were dating?”

“I’ve known for months. You guys are _not_  subtle.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” I say slowly, steadying my hands on the window sill behind my back. “Michelle Jones and I are  _not_  dating. Where-where did you even get that idea?”

Peter’s face is flipping through a catalog of expressions in his attempt to figure out if I’m lying or not. The rising and falling of his chest hasn’t slowed and his face is still red.

“Because  _every_ time you guys spend the night, I wake up and I find you guys t-together, you know,  _holding_  each other on the couch. And all the texting, the little codes you guys have, the looks you give each other. I mean, trying to play Uno with you guys is almost impossible! You’re always teaming up against me and Ned to get us out first. A-and all of your inside jokes, too! It’s so  _all the time_. Not to mention that you guys touch each other way more than you touch me or Ned!”

“Peter, I promi-”

“Can you let me finish?” Despite his momentary pause, he’s getting worked up again. “And this stuff with Flash is another thing. Did you  _have_  to invite him to last night? I’ve put up with you talking to him and actually, like, hanging out with him in classes, but I was  _really_ excited about that dinner until I heard you tell MJ to invite him. Did you even consider how much I would hate him being there? Did you even think about me?”

That triggers a gut punch. No, a punch to my entire body.

“Peter,” I interject, my finger feeling a familiar, burning itch. “I think about you  _all the time_ , more than anyone else! I only invited him because I needed to stop thinking about  _you!_  Do you know what it’s like, waiting and waiting and waiting every single day? You’re almost always in danger and I- and I get why, trust me - I understand why you do what you do every day and I’ve never tried to interfere with that. But it leaves the rest of us on edge. Sometimes it’s exhausting, all the hours I spend thinking about you, waiting to hear from you, telling myself not to imagine all the awful, nightmarish reasons you might not be texting me back. So maybe  _once_  I made a call you didn’t like, but like most of the time,  _you weren’t there!_  And I didn’t like last year with you mooning over Liz and you never noticed  _that_ , ever. The- the point is: I figured you and Flash could sit on opposite sides of the fucking table for dinner. Or else you could get along for  _one_  night.”

_I shouldn’t have mentioned Liz._

Peter barely breathes while I speak, until the end, when I think he might combust.

“Get along with Flash? Are you serious? I know you think I ‘shouldn’t let him get to me’ but frankly, I think that’s bullshit. He’s a bully. A bully you  _kissed_ , but a bully nonetheless, and you shouldn’t have tried to make sure I wouldn’t tell on him, or whatever, to Mr. Harrington.” On the word  _kissed_ , Peter looks at the wall in disgust, his balled up fists hitting the sides of his thighs impatiently. “I could handle you and MJ together, but if you’re telling me you guys aren’t, then it seems like Flash is next in line and I’m serious when I say I would not be able to handle  _that_.”

My heart rate has been sky high since I admitted how often I think of Peter but that comment is a final straw. My chest is pounding like a rabbit is inside it with a jackhammer.

We’re both breathing too quickly with too much pent-up energy in the air. It doesn’t help that we’re still soaking in our swimsuits either.

“There is no  _line_ , Peter Parker. I am not some  _business_  for dating, so let me make this clear: I am not dating anyone, let alone  _Flash_. I’ve tried explaining why I treat him the way I do, but you never listen, so why go over it now? I only asked you if I should tell Mr. Harrington because I  _wanted_  to do something about what he did to you, I  _wanted_  for him to face consequences for once! I tried to tell you that you shouldn’t have to ‘put up’ with the shit he does to you, but you wouldn’t listen! Next time you start counting up the reasons you’re angry with me,  _talk to me_  about it rather than waiting and pushing my buttons until I explode.”

Peter and I stare at each other. He’s lost for a moment, then shaking his head.

“That doesn’t address all the texts between you and MJ at dinner!”

“With me, MJ, and Ned,  _you moron!_ ”

“Awesome, so you guys are all texting each other without me!”

“It was about you being such an ass! And you’ve been doing  _the exact same thing_  all of today!  _And locking me outside with Flash!_ ”

“If you say ‘Flash’ one more time, I swear to God, I’m going to jump out that window.”

He points behind my back.

“Peter,  _please_ , will you just explain the calls and texts with MJ and Ned today?”

Peter’s eyes are red and flitting from the window to the bed to me to the carpet to the closet, half in guilt, half in exasperation and frustration.

“W-well what about the constant couch cuddling, huh? You didn’t answer that!”

Now _I_ might jump out the window.

“Oh my God, Peter! It’s just something I-I  _do!_  It’s not on purpose and it doesn’t mean anything! It’s embarrassing, but it’s not an ‘MJ and me’ thing, it’s a ‘thing MJ puts up with because there’s only one couch’ thing! I am  _not_  dating my best friend!”

Peter’s face screws up like I’ve said something horrible. His head is still shaking slightly and his fists are knocking against his legs again. He stares at the ground near my feet.

“I-I’m just gonna go… um, somewhere, uh, else,” he says.

“Can you please explain why you guys have been texting all day?” I ask. “It’s been freaking me out; I mean, it’s really making me nervous. Peter, please?”

Peter doesn’t meet my eyes. He’s focused on the ceiling, fingers trembling.

“I’d rather not. I need to leave.”

Standing with my hands still clutching the window sill, Peter flings the door open and leaves without another word.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this!   
> Let me know what you think in the comments, especially if you have questions! I absolutely love reading your comments - it means so much to me. You guys are so wonderful!  
> Unfortunately, Part 9 won't be posted until next Friday. I might be super behind with my writing schedule.   
> Oops.  
> \- Jane


	9. Part 9

As the millionth text from Ned buzzes my phone, I consider chucking it off the roof. Maybe myself with it.

It only took an episode of yelling with Y/N and a door slam for him to finally answer me back, as if the five minutes of me pounding on his and MJ’s door earlier hadn’t been a concern of his. Now, given the timing, I’ve decided to respond with his own stubbornness and refuse to even open the messages. I can guess what they say. Probably what Aunt May said when she called forty minutes ago.

Something like:  _Maybe it’s time to be straightforward and tell her. What’s the worst that could happen? It has to be better than how you’ve left it. As long as you handle this properly, I think the Peter Parker Gets a Girlfriend initiative is still in the running!_

I know I’m not handling this well. I know it’s bad. I  _know_. I mean, it’s kind of impossible to feel how I feel about her and not understand that I’ve probably - definitely - blown all my chances at this point. I wish Aunt May understood that. Trying to explain what it was like back there, how bad I made it, how angry we both were… all it did was make me want to throw up. And Aunt May didn’t exactly listen,  _really_  listen, to that part anyway. If I hadn’t gotten choked up, she probably would have called Y/N herself. I’ve never been so relieved to start crying on a rooftop while talking to someone. At least she’s backing off. For tonight, that is.

I can’t stop thinking about how it happened. It was so fast. Even though I knew it was building up all week, I had no idea I would snap like that - and at first, I really didn’t mean to.

I mean, it’s been hard keeping everything in. Aunt May and Ned have been putting so much pressure on me to “tell her how I feel” lately and then she was always so happy the last few days that every time I was around her, which was constantly with all of our studying, I kept finding myself balanced between wanting to burst out and finally tell her, consequences be damned, or else call Happy and see if Mr. Stark had any potentially lethal missions available. Instead, I kept my mouth firmly shut and avoided eye contact with her and Aunt May. After this morning with Flash, last night with Flash, the thought of her kissing Flash (even at six years old, which,  _I know_ , is so stupid to be upset over, but it’s… it’s  _Flash_ ) and all the private texting between everyone, the pool was the last straw.

I tried to get out of it earlier. Maybe I should’ve. But Y/N asked me if I was coming in a voice that warned me something was off, so I went. I didn’t  _want_  to be there. But I worried she might need someone. (Ironic, given how I behaved in the end.  _God, I was such an ass_.)

Plus, after she hugged me and ran off, things got really weird. I knew why she did it, even if Aunt May keeps denying any involvement. It’s awkward to imagine what Aunt May must have said to her to make her do it. She obviously didn’t want to. Not to mention, I knew I got her stuck outside with Flash when Aunt May called again.

In my defense, I really thought Ned and MJ would let her in the other room.

Anyway, the point is: things were never more unclear with Y/N than they were an hour ago. I’ve been so worried about letting myself get too excited around her that I’ve probably been leaning too far into reasons to be upset with her (Ned thinks it’s some “self-preservation” thing and I’m starting to agree). I must have been coming across as a rude asshole all week. If Aunt May and Ned have been trying to push her towards me, it must have been super confusing for her, it probably made my behavior even worse.

 All that aside, it still doesn’t make any sense why she would try to get me to play that game in the pool.

With Abe it was easy. We were just pretending, like acting punches, pretend shoves. Y/N knows that if I really hit someone it could go seriously wrong. I can’t risk it. I would  _never_  risk it with any of my friends, not ever, even if it’s a game. So when she started getting angry, I figured it was just a way to get angry with me like I’d been doing with her.  _Do something!_  I can still hear her saying it. I just don’t understand what she wanted me to do, though.

The more she said it, the more I worried she was hinting at something bigger. Was she trying to poke me into letting some Spidey secret out? I have never suspected that type of motive from her, but why else mock me with something she knows I can’t do because of it? Could it _really_ have slipped her mind? She’s always on top of everything. It doesn’t seem like something she’d forget.

I guess - no, I  _know_ \- I let fear get the best of me. I should never have shouted or gotten angry or splashed her like I did. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been nervous this week around her or scared of everything I’ve been feeling or frustrated that she invited Flash to the dinner or even panicked about her practically yelling a phrase I didn’t understand: I should have kept my temper and waited to talk to her later, like she said.

That’s the shittiest part. Out of everybody, she’s the person I wish I could to talk to most about this - about everything. But I can’t.

I’m torn into two parts right now and neither of them is concerned with securing Y/N as my girlfriend. (I know that isn’t how Ned and Aunt May meant it, but “winning the game” or “accomplishing the mission” is not even on my radar at the moment.) First, I’m still frustrated. Not angry, at least, but everything we talked- well, yelled- about didn’t just dissolve. It’s still in my head, even if I’m trying to erase it. Second, all I want to do is go back and apologize like an idiot. Even if we’re fighting, I don’t want to make her feel bad about anything. I want to go make sure she’s alright. All I wanted in the first place was to finally hear the truth about her and MJ, to get through to her about Flash, and to just… feel like I’m a real part of her life… even if not in the way I want.

I don’t think I accomplished much in the way of those three things, but then again, I’m still reeling. There’s so much to go over. My brain’s on overload.

I need to think this out.

I need to be rational.

Okay.

First: Y/N said she and MJ aren’t dating. Ned and Aunt May always thought I was looking too far into little things when I brought this up. Maybe they were right. She did seem seriously surprised. Why deny it when confronted? And why else would MJ have been texting me today, hinting that she knew I liked Y/N? If Aunt May or Ned told her, wouldn’t she have gotten upset about it and said something to my face, had they been dating? It  _did_ make me paranoid today that she was playing with me, but now the tone of her messages doesn’t seem threatening like it did before. It seems… curious, if not supportive. I… I guess that part is settled. Y/N did say,  _I’m not dating my best friend_.

Did she mean  _none_  of her best friends, though? It felt coded. It felt like shit. I know I don’t have a chance in the first place, but it still stung like a slap to the face.

That phrase keeps playing in my head.

 _I’m_ not _dating my best friend._

I need to stop thinking about it.

Second: Flash. That hasn’t moved anywhere. He’s still a dick and she’s still too forgiving with him.  _Thank God she doesn’t like him, at least_. But the other things she said when I brought him up are definitely significant. What did she mean about Liz? Liz doesn’t have disagreements with many people and if they didn’t like each other, I certainly never noticed. But she said that too: I never noticed it. I’ll ask her about that later. Not too soon, definitely not tonight, but when - if - things get better.

There’s something more important to focus on.

She thinks about me.  _All the time_. I can’t dwell too much on this; I know it doesn’t mean what I want it to mean, but it is meaningful in a thousand other ways.

She cares. She worries. She waits. She thinks about me. She really, genuinely, seriously cares about me. And she thinks about me,  _all the time_.

_How many times has she thought of me while I was thinking of her?_

This thought is too dizzying. My legs feel like they might fold in.

I wind my towel up and put it behind my head to lie on it like a pillow.

I picture her walking home from school and sending me a text, thinking of me. All the while, I’m on the opposite side of Queens assuming her message is just a usual kindness, something she would do for anybody.

_I think about you all the time, more than anyone else._

I nearly fainted when she said that, I swear to God.

So third: I am a real part of her life - proven by what she said. I think that’s enough. Knowing she genuinely, seriously cares is enough. I’d rather she thought of me in a more positive way, but if worrying reflects any sort of dedication to our friendship, that’s plenty. Though I _will_ , from now on, respond to her messages immediately… even if it makes me feel desperate and lame, just to make sure she isn’t stressed out anymore.  _She worries about me_.

Conclusions combined, I have no idea how I feel. I was so angry today. Flash’s stunt, the fact I thought Y/N actually wanted to defend him, thinking she and MJ were in a secret relationship, the pressure Aunt May and Ned have been putting on me this week, especially since that hug thing… overall, the entire idea of their “mission.” (Honestly, calling it a mission did not make it any more appealing, despite what they may have hoped.)

It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m on unstable ground, but at least I know that when I go back to the room, I won’t feel claustrophobic, like I can’t get enough air. I’ve got fear to spare in gallons, but there’s hope mixed in too. I can fix this.

It’ll be okay. I can do this. I’m Spider-Man, for fuck’s sake.

I just need… a few minutes longer to get my head together.

_Holy shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I know it was kind of boring. Hopefully, the next parts will be more interesting!  
> Like always, thank you so much to everyone who has commented! It means so much to me, I love you guys 


	10. Part 10

I know Peter won’t be back, not after everything. That’s the worst bit. Even after we finally confronted each other, things aren’t fixed - if anything, they’re worse than ever.

I love my friends, all of them, beyond words… yet even though I’m overjoyed to know that I still have Ned and Michelle, my friendship with Peter is undeniably in immediate decay and it’s almost unbearable. I’m half in love with him and he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. Not to mention, I  _still_  don’t know why they were all ignoring me in the first place.

Like a child, I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the bed, the sound of the door slam echoing around in my brain, replaying over and over and over. My thoughts are reaching and clawing at every insecurity I have. Within minutes my head is aching again and I have to wipe the tears leaking from under my eyes. I’ve stopped shaking for the most part at least.

_It’s not the end of the world, I tell myself._

_I won’t be able to go to May and Peter’s anymore though_ , I realize. I push that thought away immediately. I can’t - I really can’t - think about that right now.

I glance at the clock. It’s 11:13 p.m. I might as well try to sleep.

I change into some pajamas, fingers still trembling. I turn out the lights and climb into bed. The air is a bit too bitter, so I pull as much of the comforter around myself as possible. If I close my eyes and focus enough, I can imagine the weight of the blanket is my mom’s embrace. I wish I could call her. It’s not too late that she wouldn’t answer, but I’ve kept this Peter-crush a secret from everyone and it would be too obvious if I tried to explain what’s going on. Plus, I just don’t want her to worry about me - especially when I’m away from home.

Part of me wants to call May. That’s certainly off the table, too, and for the same reason. But man, I really,  _really_  want to.

A sheltered part of my brain nags me, whispers that I should reach out to Peter or Michelle or Ned. Again, off the table for obvious reasons. I can’t talk to anybody about this without making it complicated. Plus, I’ll start crying again and I don’t want to deal with that twice. The urge alone is driving me insane.

_Why is Peter still the first person I wish I could talk to right now?_

I need to stop thinking if I’m going to fall asleep.

I huddle deeper into the blanket and pick up my phone. I tap Instagram to numb my brain.

Dumb idea. Most of the team has already posted something from today and Peter and I are often in the backgrounds. We look miserable in the majority of them. There are a few that aren’t too awful. A handful are of the entire team and all of us look rather happy. (It’s impossible not to smile and laugh while Ned is being petty enough to put bunny ears on Flash.) Then there’s one from the pool, taken by Cindy. It was when Michelle first called Liz. Peter’s got this look, this expression, as he stares at the phone leaning against the wall. Some sort of longing. I know he must miss her. It’s been almost a year and he’s probably missed her every day since. I know it.

All of my insecure  _Reasons Not To Keep a Crush on Peter Parker_  are confirmed by this photo. Peter is still hung up on Liz. He likes Liz. He likes people like Liz. I’m not Liz. I’m not even  _like_  Liz.

I’m halfway in love with my best friend and he’s halfway in love with someone who isn’t anything like me. The little tiny piece of hope I’d kept hidden away like a lightning bug in a bottle is now extinguished. Or dead. Whichever makes metaphorical sense.

I zoom in on the picture and force myself to stare at it. This is reality. It’s time to let go and accept the fact that my friendship with Peter is nearly finished. Nothing will change as I blindly imagined; it will only get worse from here.

I exit the app and set my phone on the nightstand. Arms wound tight around a wet pillow, the night is swallowed up by black, heavy, deafening silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
>  I might update tomorrow night or I might update next Friday. Honestly, it'll all depend on how much time I have to edit Part 11 and how motivated I am. (Feedback aka some comments might help here [also AO3 keeps erasing the winking face here gah]) Anyway, I know this is short but I hope you've enjoyed it! \- Jane


	11. Part 11

Standing up, I turn and survey the area by default. Cars are gliding down streets, two workers from the hotel are smoking outside, and the bugs from the trees and lampposts are buzzing and flying without purpose.

Everything is calm, normal, and still. It gives me another dose of hope. _I can fix this._

I’m going back and making things right. I’m ready to apologize. Maybe I can salvage this trip, the thing she’s been so excited for. Speaking of which, I’ll definitely need to apologize to Ned and MJ too. The whole team, considering.

I pick up my phone, wondering if I should send her a text so I don’t waste another minute of her being upset or worried while I figure out how to sneak back in the building.

My screen is full of ignored messages.

“Ned: did you just leave? seriously?

“I heard the door. was that you or her?

“MJ said if I can’t hear yelling under the door you’re probably not there. so where are you??

“unless you’re there by yourself.

“but i’ve heard you cry and that’s not you.

“I know my messages are going thru. you’re totally ruining whatever chance you’ve got.

“dude this is like the worst peter parker behavior ever. way worse than ditching me and MJ at that party. she’s seriously upset. you should be there.

“may said you’re still being unreasonable. come on bro. this is the last text I’m sending u.”

The last message is from half a minute ago, half an hour after the previous text.

“DUDE.”

_Shit._

It’s like ice water has been poured down my back. I’ve never seen Y/N actually cry over  _anything_. Like sad-scene-in-a-movie cry or just-finished-reading-a-really-good-book cry probably a million times, but nothing  _real_. She’s only quiet if something gets at her. _I’m_  the one who can almost never keep my emotions off the radar. If I could, my eyes and throat wouldn’t still be burning and my face might look less red than my suit. (Not that I have it. Aunt May has it on lockdown at home.) Ned’s right: I should be there. I should have been able to stay with her in the first place to talk this out.

As I picture her in that room, crying alone, I feel my gut drop and my throat itch. This is the worst part of tonight.

Ned is definitely right. Or was, half an hour ago when he dubbed this my worst behavior ever. I have to go back immediately.

_Get it together, Peter. You’re Spider-Man._

The whole walk back, I think about how I left her alone and probably more confused and hurt than I was when I stormed out.  _I’m such a shitty friend. This is exactly why I don’t deserve to be more than that to her._  Jogging up the stairwell, I imagine how many people are in this hotel, all concentrated in the area I’m about to enter (though they’ll be stacked above and below  _and_ on the side of me), and how if each of them knew how horrible I’ve been, they would probably kick me out.  _I can’t believe I left her crying_.

I pause at the top of the stairs. I take a breath and I open the door.

Quietly with the key Ned and MJ left me, I slip into the room. For the split second it takes me to shut the door, light from the hallway falls over a massive blanket cocoon huddled on the left side of the bed. It’s something she does whenever she’s stressed or anxious. Anytime she has an important paper or project or presentation, she ends up like this the night before it’s due. It helps when she gets headaches too, I think.

_You did this, dumbass._

My chest is tightening all over again. I take a few steps forward and kneel beside the bed. I’m semi-prepared. I tug a corner of blanket away from her face and lean in near her ear to whisper.

“Y/N? I know you probably don’t want to see me right now. I just want to say I’m so sorry. I... I’m an idiot. A bona fide moron. If you never want to talk to me, I understand. But if you do, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be your personal slave for a month. I’ll let you wear the suit whenev- like twice a week. I’ll do anything you want. I’m so sorry I freaked out and messed everything up.”

_That wasn’t so hard_. I exhale.

Y/N doesn’t respond.

_She’s not even awake._

The faint glow from the streetlamps outside and the alarm clock on the nightstand is enough to outline her face in pale red. Not a muscle moved. _I’ll say it again tomorrow. More. And I’ll say it better. If I practice a better speech in my head a thousand times, maybe she’ll forgive me._ Then we can work on never letting this happen again.

_God, I’ve been such a moron._

I stand up and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Maybe it’s from trying to talk to her after today, but there’s this numb tingle in my arms somewhere between an itch and restlessness. It reminds me of how weird the first week was after the bite. Like the rest of my body is pushing my skin too far.

I look at the mirror.  _Shit._  If Aunt May were here, she’d probably be freaking about a bit. I look rough.  _I look like shit._

I shake my head and focus on just getting ready to sleep. As inconvenient as it is, the competition is still tomorrow.

On the sink: my toothbrush, toothpaste, and retainers. Good, right where I left them. My bag.... Not where I left it. It was on a floor. Now… it’s not. It’s not in the bathroom at all. There’s a bag, but not mine. I turn off the light and open the door.

I use my phone to look over the room with dim light. Nothing. I open my messages.

“Ned, did you take my bag by accident?”

_Whoosh._

Ned might be asleep now; MJ definitely is. If they have my bag, I don’t have my clothes. I planned on sleeping on the floor, but I really don’t want to be just in my trunks when she wakes up and we talk. That’d be weird.

_Buzz._

“Ned: not an accident. MJ’s idea. you’ll be the most vulnerable person in the room and self-conscious enough to feel cornered into a bit of honesty. it might help the mission. it might make you think before you speak.”

_Life would be easier if my friends weren’t so smart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll be updating much longer on AO3. I'm still writing _Then Again_ and I'll continue updating on my Tumblr, wordsinwinters, but for the time I'm taking to update each chapter here, I'm just not getting the feedback I feel would make it worthwhile. I'm super busy with classes so I'm trying to save what time I can. This might be an easy cut.
> 
> I am still considering it - no decisions are final or anything; I'll update here for at least a few more weeks. 
> 
> I really don't want it to seem like I'm trying to force anyone to comment on this, but like I said, I'm just trying to balance where I invest my time. If you guys _are_ enjoying this fic then I absolutely want to keep posting it here. I just don't know how many of you guys actually do. 
> 
> On that note, I really appreciate everyone who _has_ commented! Each comment makes me that more excited to write this story and it means the world to me. (Honestly, if I stopped updating here and you guys aren't on Tumblr, I'd definitely be cool to share my Google Doc chapters with you guys since it's so easy to update that way.)
> 
> Anyway, I'm rambling and I apologize. Let me know what you think!
> 
> \- Jane


	12. Part 12

The whole idea of being honest seems like a bad one. I’ve been telling Aunt May and Ned this since they tried to push it on me. The thought of following their advice is uncomfortable enough that I want to resist it - and MJ’s idea - a smidge (minimum).

I’ll just wear one of Y/N’s shirts. She and MJ wear each other’s clothes all the time.

Back in the bathroom, I brush my teeth, pop in my retainers, and open her bag. Under a pair of jeans is a plain black t-shirt. Perfect. I have to yank the collar down to get my head through... and it is definitely tight... but it’s better than nothing.

_What has my time in the suit trained me for, if I can’t wear a girl’s shirt?_

I look in the mirror.  _Shit_. The collar has turned my hair into a mess and underneath, it’s like I’ve tried on a child’s shirt.  _This is ridiculous._

As I attempt to maneuver my arm out of the left shoulder sleeve, I tug a bit too forcefully and hear a tear, suddenly losing balance and hitting the wall with the entire right side of my body.  _Shit._  There’s a clear crack in the yellow paint. My head stings. I scramble to my feet and try again.

It takes what feels like ten minutes to get the shirt off without ripping it. I fold it and put it back.  _Never again._

I turn off the bathroom light and pad through the room as quietly as I can. I open the closet door near the window and reach for the blankets stored on the top shelf. Nothing. I check again with the light of my phone. Nothing at all.  _I’m going to strangle Ned and MJ tomorrow. What were they thinking?_  It’s way too cold for this.

_I’ll still sleep on the floor,_  I decide _. I’ll use my towel as a blanket... once it’s dry._

My heart is pounding. It’s chilly and the only blanket in the room is attached to Y/N, on the bed.

_What would Aunt May say?_

For once, I don’t know. I mean, Y/N and I just had a fight that I haven’t had the chance to make right yet. The competition is tomorrow. It’s late and she’s asleep. The situation between us is... stalled.

_What’s the logical thing to do?_

Get in the bed. Shift some of the blanket over. Get warm while the towel gets dry. Get out of the bed. Sleep on the floor with the towel.

It’s not the best plan, but I like it more than I need to.

Gingerly, I tiptoe to the bed and climb in. I stay as still as possible while I drag a corner of the comforter toward myself. It’s so warm. For the sake of body heat, I inch a smidge closer. I scrunch up part of the blanket to wrinkle a mini wall of fabric between us. That’s as much personal space as I can make, given the size of the bed. I’m so close that even if my senses weren’t hyped up, I’d be able to smell her hair across the pillow.  _God, I love her shampoo._

_Dude, knock it off._

Like I’ve told myself a million times, I need to not make things so weird. At least she can’t hear my thoughts.  _Thank God._

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. Even though I wanted her to be awake when I got back, maybe this is better. There’s so much I have to say tomorrow, this extra time is probably for the best.

I turn my head toward her - or rather, the mountain of blanket with a face. I don’t come up with stupid scenarios about why we’re sleeping beside one another in a hotel bed or any other  _What If_ questions my brain is aching to invent. Instead, I go over all the shit she’s gone through this week because of me. I go over everything I need to own up to and everything I need to say to her in the morning. Maybe it’s selfish or pathetic, but I let myself hope that tonight was stupid and wrong and mostly my fault, but not irreparable. I imagine that forgiveness is on the table. That’s it. That’s all I have a right to consider anymore.

Maybe I can’t be with her the way I want to. Not now, maybe not ever. And yeah, it sucks. I mean, since the start, and I’m ready to admit now that it started way before October, it’s been so different with her. It’s almost terrifying. It’s not the same kind of crush I’ve had before, like with Liz or anybody else. I know her, I really  _know_  her and I care about her like crazy. And I think about her all the time, too.

But none of this matters. It’s not happening. I can’t be with her like that and it’s obvious now more than ever. The vital part is how I  _can_  be with her, and with Ned and MJ, almost every day for the foreseeable future. I can just enjoy her-  _their_  presence without any strings. If things only go back to normal, that’s enough. It has to be.

_What if she really doesn’t forgive me, though? What if I’ve really crossed the last line this time?_

The same heaviness is pressing into my chest like before, a pressure that reminds me of swimming too deep underwater.

I need to remember what Aunt May said. _If anybody is willing to give second chances, it’s almost always her._  Then again, which chance was I even on tonight? I’ve run through too many to count.

I close my eyes. God, I wish I could turn brain off.

_Why didn’t I just talk to her when she came here earlier?_  It seems impossible that fewer than twelve hours ago she hugged me and I shrugged her off. I can’t believe I actually let myself think of her like I did, as if she would do any of those things or, more importantly, as if any of it was even my business to begin with.

_I’m such an idiot. I should’ve -_

A twisting sound snaps my eyes open.

Y/N starts moving beside me. She awkwardly shifts positions with slow and mechanical movements until she’s lying on her back, her arm thrown over her eyes.

The red light from the alarm clock allows me to just barely trace the faint outline of her hand a few inches from my face. It reminds me of the first time we met, a memory that would usually make me laugh, and of the fact that handshakes are our main form of physical contact. And that it’s not exactly as if we shake hands all that often. 

It suddenly reminds me of all the tiny distances and boundaries that exist within our friendship, the ones that keep us from being as close to each other as we are the Ned and MJ. Just the shadow of her hand reminds me of how badly I wish everything could be different.

_None of this matters right now. Let it go._

I breathe out. Try to clear my head. I think of that counting exercise Mr. Stark told me about.  _One. Two. Three. Four. Four, three, two, one. One. Two. Three. Four. Four, three, two, one._

One thought refuses to stop though. The same one as all week.

Despite everything, Y/N is still the only person I want to be around right now, the only person I actually want to talk to about this stuff, the only person I know would listen and really, really understand it all. But then again, after everything, maybe not... even if I could tell her.

Fear and anxiety churn in my stomach.

For a split-second, I stop thinking and let myself do a stupid thing.

I reach out, slowly, and trace her fingers with my own. I’m about to take her hand in mine,  _just_  for a moment, before I think better of it. I draw my hand back to my chest, the sudden absence of her skin making my own fingers itch. 

_God, why am I constantly so weird around her?_

“I’m serious about what I said before,” I whisper, needing to confess one final time tonight. “I’m really, really sorry. Anything you decide is suitable, I’ll do whatever you want if it helps you forgive me. I swear, I never meant to be such a jerk and I’ll never act like that again. Please, just tell me what you want me to do.”

I exhale and push my palms into my eyes. I need to turn my brain off.

But then a warm hand touches my shoulder.

_Y/N?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Rather than reply to each comment, I decided to address everything from last weekend here:
> 
> First, thank you guys so much for the responses! 18 comments are a _ton_ compared to the 1 or 2 from the previous updates. 
> 
> That being said, I guess the heart of the matter comes down to this: I've spent over 3 months now writing and editing this fic. It's the culmination of hours upon hours upon hours of work. I don't want to beg for feedback, but it does kind of suck to think that out of the hundreds of people reading this, only a few are willing to spend even a couple minutes to respond. 
> 
> It's like spending months to plan an enormous party, organizing every detail, obsessing over all the people who might show up, trying to juggle the rest of life with this one event, and then finally reaching the big day... just to have everyone come in, eat all the food, and then avoid eye contact the rest of the night. Kudos are awesome, but it's kind of like some shadowy figure giving a thumbs up in the corner. It feels a bit awkward and disappointing.
> 
> That's probably an awful metaphor. Mostly what I mean is that I've been so excited to connect with my readers; I've been anticipating it since August. But here, on AO3, it's just not happening as I imagined. Posting _Then Again_ on Tumblr is going a thousand times better, so it definitely compensates. (If that makes sense.)
> 
> Anyway, I'm really glad that you guys commented last weekend! I definitely geeked out a bit to see so many responses! Simply based on those 18 people, I think I'll keep posting here. :) In the end, all I really want is to know that you guys enjoy it. (To know that some of you regularly check in for updates is seriously really, really cool!)
> 
> If you guys _do_ want to comment but don't know what to say, trust me: _anything is plenty._
> 
> I've had readers from Tumblr tell me that they'd been listening to songs that reminded them of the fic because they were excited about the next update, or that they stayed up way longer than they planned because they were rereading it, or just that one of Ned's lines made them laugh (specific comments like that are short but often my favorites). Anything you think about while reading is something I'd love to hear! 
> 
> Okay, so that's wayyyy too much about that. I apologize. I got carried away.
> 
>  
> 
> _The next update will be next Friday, November 17._ It may also be later (around 8 p.m., rather than 6 p.m.) simply because that's going to be a crazy busy day for me. 
> 
> So, if you'd like, let me know what you guys think of this chapter :)
> 
> \- Jane
> 
> P.S. Mercedes, thank you so much for that comment - everything you wrote is at the center of this fic! I'm so happy someone pointed it out :)
> 
> P.P.S. Since the next update isn't until next week, here are some spoilers for Part 13:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rI-kg2IGAI


	13. Part 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> This chapter is a turning point in the fic, so I hope you enjoy it :) Let me know what you think!  
> \- Jane  
> P.S. I'm so, so sorry I'm posting this later than I usually do, I didn't know AO3 had a scheduled shut down tonight.

_He came back?_

A hard crash in the bathroom slaps me awake. The consequent groan confirms it’s Peter who’s likely just tripped over his own feet. My eyes snap open on impact and my heart leaps.

The light from the bathroom is outlining the door in harsh gold, a shadow darkening the left floor corner. I close my eyes again, unable to handle the sudden light, and focus on keeping my body completely still. I’d rather he doesn’t know I’m awake. I’m not ready for what we might say to each other.

_I just can’t believe he came back._

This thought swims the perimeter of my brain again and again, almost endlessly alongside my concentration to stay still until, of course, the door eventually opens. There’s a burst of light popping red against my eyelids.  _Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move._  It’s only a second though before it goes black once more. If I could make a sound, I’d sigh.

The moment the door closes though, the silent air freezes. If I could see anything, I’m certain I would be able to pick out every particle of dust in the room halted, standing like statues in their assigned places. Everything around me - and me - feels trapped in this tiny timeframe. At once I’m far too warm.

_He really came back?_

Peter’s trying to be quiet, I can tell. Maybe that’s why I’m too aware of myself. My breathing shifts from an involuntary function to a mess of trying to regulate it consciously. I hate it.  _Breathe in. One, two, three, four. And out for five, four, three-_

I hear something creak near the window.  _Is he really-?_ But then I realize it’s only the closet.  _He’s staying, then?_  I wish I were facing the other way so I could try to peek and see what he’s doing.

Without warning the blanket pulls.

_What-?_

The bed dips behind me, the springs compressing enough that I can sense exactly where Peter’s weight is centered. He’s inches from my back.

_Holy shit._

His head must be close to mine on the pillow because something is tickling my scalp. What else is it, if not his breathing near my hair?

God, I’m still thinking about my own breathing.

Peter adjusts slightly.

 _Focus. In for one, two, three, four. And out for five, four, three, two, one. Shut up, brain, please._  The heaviness in my lungs is making it difficult though. I need to turn over to relieve the pressure on my ribcage.

Slowly, steadily, and as convincingly as possible, I roll my shoulders over and push my legs to follow. It’s awkward and disjointed.  _As it would be, probably, if I were asleep._  For good measure, I place my arm over my eyes. That should keep me from trying to sneak a glance. I really shouldn’t risk him knowing I’m not asleep particularly because I  _should_  be. The competition. I need to be ready.  _If I let Michelle down-_

He’s touching me.  _What is he doing?_  His fingers are brushing mine as if - but now they’re gone.  _What?_

_One, two, three, four. Five, four, three two one. One two three four. Five four three-_

Peter’s voice nearly makes me jolt.

“I’m serious about what I said before.” He pauses. My mind sprints through too many of things he said tonight and my stomach drops. “I’m really, really sorry.”  _What?_  “Anything you decide is suitable, I’ll do whatever you want if it helps you forgive me. I swear, I never meant to be such a jerk and I’ll never act like that again. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

He’s apologizing… and for the second time tonight, apparently.

 _That’s_  Peter.  _That’s_  the person I’ve been friends with for so long. He’s really back.

It’s unbelievable, I realize, how much I’ve missed him this week.

_All I want is for us to be on the same side again._

My hand feels cold now, my fingers itching to have his back for a moment. I think I get the gesture now. Coming from Peter, it might’ve been a question, a mini request for compromise, a hint at truce in case I was awake. The shock of the initial contact made it weird in the moment, but in hindsight, it is uniquely Peter. Almost weird, but oddly perfect in context.  _I can’t believe he’s back._

Come tomorrow, the two of us are going to have a lot to work through and I know that. Yet… I almost want to say something, to signal back that it’s okay. If his apology is genuine, as it sounds and I trust it is, I should do something too, right?

 _God, I’m just going to do stupid things until I die_. With that in mind, I ignore the protests forming in my head and let my  _who cares?_  side have control for once.

I roll over onto his side of the bed and, quite frankly, onto him. Sort of. My hand fumbles across his shoulder before awkwardly reaching across his middle to latch on, as Michelle is well familiar with. He half-jumps. By instinct, I immediately pull myself closer, my fingers pressing themselves against his bare ribcage.

_Why didn’t you change into pajamas? Damn you, Peter._

I really thought he would at least have a t-shirt.

Although I’ve seen him shirtless a handful of times before, like an hour ago, it’s suddenly a very different thing to physically feel him this way.

“Uh, um. Y/N? Are… are you awake?”

_Don’t move a muscle, definitely don’t answer._

“I don’t want to be weird or anything….” He hesitates. “But my arm is going to go numb if- if I stay like this. So it’s, you know, logical I guess, if I move a bit? But if it’s weird you can, you know, just hit me or something. Or maybe I should sleep on the floor? I was going to once I-”

I force a fake, drawn-out exhale and for some stupid, idiotic reason, I pull myself up a bit more, my leg by habit (I’ll pretend) following the overall motion to slide between his knees.  _Why am I like this?_  I can picture how this must look: Peter on his back, his arm crushed under me as I cling to him like a koala bear or tree frog. Our ankles knock against each other slightly. That itself gives me a sense of security, like being locked into a safe place.

Peter stills.

“So you’re not awake?”

Only Peter would ask this right now. The question tickles the top of my head. I can tell from the quick intake of breath that he’s about to keep talking - but given the situation, I think my heart might combust if he whispers another apology.

“Peter,” I mumble. “Please, shut up.”

His chest freezes under my head.  _He definitely knows I’m awake now._  He nods.

“Yeah. Okay.”

_Why did I have to say something?_

My face is burning and his skin seems more like a furnace than a human body.  _I could play it off tomorrow as if I had been still asleep… but he knows, he has to know_. _That really wasn’t a convincing still-sleeping voice._  Just as I consider rolling off the bed, rolling under it, and staying there for the next twenty years, Peter moves.

He slides his arm from under my own and wraps it around my shoulders. His right hand brushes my hair away from my face.

_I’ll be surprised if he can’t feel the heat from my forehead. God, why are we always so awkward?_

I expect him to stop there, but he combs through, rather hesitantly, twice more. The second time, one of his fingers catches on a tangle. He accidentally tugs it (I bite my cheek to keep from jumping) before he pauses and half-pats my head like sorry, my bad. He drops his hand to his side and sighs. His breathing begins to deepen. Admittedly, I wish he hadn’t stopped.

Peter shifts slightly.

He starts to say something, but hesitates - a half-formed sound trailing off.

Then, there’s a long pause. We both seem to be waiting for the other.

_What are we going to do after tomorrow, Peter?_

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

This time, I don’t say anything back.

Instead, I kick the corner of the blanket bunched around my foot - the one that isn’t between his legs - until I can tell it’s finally covering both of his feet too. Once I’m certain he has enough of the blanket, I settle in a bit more and hope he doesn’t think it’s weird.

_This is such a stupid idea._

Still, it’s better than I imagined. And how many times have I imagined this?  _An embarrassing amount and honestly -_

His arms tighten around me. The knots in the back of my neck relax.

It’s a thousand times better than I imagined.

_Shit._

 


	14. Part 14

POSSIBLE CONSEQUENCES OF THE “CUDDLE SITUATION” OF LAST NIGHT (ALSO KNOWN AS  _REASONS I SHOULD NEVER LISTEN TO MYSELF AGAIN_ ):

  1. I wake up with half of my body clinging to Peter’s shirtless self.
  2. I ruin - irrefutably  _demolish_  - my commitment to get over my crush, like I’m some sort of Peter Parker addict and this is an enormous relapse.
  3. I wake up before my alarm because his boner is digging into my left leg.



My practical, analytical side is punching  _my who cares anymore?_  side into oblivion because all of those things are really, absolutely happening right now. And I’m kind of freaking out since I’m the sole person to blame.

On his back, Peter sleeps with his entire right hand wound within my hair. My head rests on his chest, my arm hugging his middle, my leg still between his. His… um, Penis Parker is way too… prevalent.  _God, the last thing I need to think about right now is Flash._

I’ve gone too quickly from dead asleep to wide awake. It’s dizzying. I can feel the blood rushing in waves through my ears.

The alarm clock on the nightstand says 5:38 a.m., its glow just barely illuminating the room enough to make out shadows. I move my head slowly to look up. Peter’s face is the only thing I can really see in any detail, yet even though his expression is calm and still, it’s sending my stomach into somersaults, given our positions.  _Focus. Today is about the competition, not Peter. You need to be prepared._

I need to get up and take a shower, even if I go back to sleep. (And I really should, if I want my brain to function even slightly.) 

I shift my arm slowly, retracting it like a chameleon from a National Geographic episode of  _Life_. It takes a minute. Once it’s safely back on me and not on him, I try my leg next. _I can’t believe I let any of this happen. Penis Parker. Oh my god. If things go back to normal, when is too soon to joke about this? Would he be awkward about it if I told Michelle and Ned? Of course he would. It’s Peter. He’d be mortified._  A thousand other thoughts sprinting through my brain, this particular effort takes more time. Not to mention, the further I move my leg, the more off balanced I’m becoming. At least his trunks are dry now; their dampness had been uncomfortable last night.

As my leg slips off of his, he grunts, twitching slightly. My eyes flash up. _Still sleeping._  I let out a silent sigh.

All I need to do is slide his hand out of my hair and sneak my head off of his chest. It might be easier if all of my weight wasn’t balanced on one side of my body. Nevertheless, it can’t be that hard.  _God, I won’t be able to say “hard” with a straight face for weeks._

I reach just behind my ear to find his hand. Gingerly, I lift it while I ease my head out from underneath. My hair catches some, but I shift my fingers until it falls from his.  _Perfect._  I set his hand back down, on his chest.

Before I can roll over to exit the bed, my vision of the alarm clock is obstructed by a sudden, heavy shadow. 

“Wait,” Peter says, voice thick with sleep as he rolls on top of me, arms latched with an iron grip around my middle. “I can’t figure out the code ‘cause it’s just, like, so  _ughhh_ , you know? It’s the sleep. Jus-just makes sense. Promotion for the… the, uh, future of Parker Industries. Right.”

As he slurs nonsense into the crook of my neck and shoulder, he moves the rest of his body like a child trying to get comfy in their blankets, his torso squirming against mine frozen beneath him. His words half-pressed into the skin of my collarbone send shivers through my spine and I fight an almost-squeak rising in my throat. I might have more time to process this, how absurdly good it might feel, but his weight is literally crushing the air from my lungs and I don’t even want to explain where certain parts of him are on me. 

I try to wiggle out from under him to catch my breath, my hands pulling at the bedsheets as I struggle.

But I can’t move. He’s too heavy. Anxiety floods and washes through my bones.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I really can’t breathe._

Images of Ross Geller and Chandler Bing pop into my head, blaring like panic alarms.

_Hug and Roll. Hug and Roll. Hug and Roll._

I mirror Peter’s embrace and wrap my arms around him as tightly as possible. I squeeze and roll. 

_Not enough._

I don’t get more than halfway, a half gasp of air, before my back hits the bed again, his weight shoving each of my ribs downward into each other. Peter merely tightens his grip and nuzzles his face into my hair, muttering something about Happy Hogan and shampoo.

_Come on, come on. Do it. Get yourself out. Hug and Roll. Just_ do _it._

This time, I put all my strength into it.

_Fuck. Almost._

The fall backward hits even harder this time. Peter clings tighter still and my lungs might as well be deflated plastic bags.  _Shit, I might actually pass out in another ten seconds._ My vision is darkening. I can’t see the alarm clock anymore.

I jam my foot hard into the mattress and roll our bodies to the right before using the momentum to roll sharply left, scrambling so both of my feet dig into the bed, one nearly tripping over the other.

_Yes!_

I gasp, nearly choking and almost not caring if the sound wakes him up. 

We’re on the other side of the bed -  _thank God_  - and I’m on top of Peter. 

Relief melts my posture, the former strain in my neck and back fading out. I rest my forehead against his shoulder, eyes closed tight. 

After a dozen full, deep breaths, I move to get up. 

I can’t. 

Peter’s arms are still locked around me. The grip is looser at least, and I can breathe perfectly fine, but I know my chances of breaking his super grip are slimmer than slim.

_Shit._

The jabbing in my hip is growing more and more frustrating each moment.  _If he wakes up like this… we may never speak again, even if we forgive each other for last night._ I can already picture it: Peter would drown himself in embarrassment, sputtering apologies as his face turns a thousand shades of red. I’d like to spare both of us from that. If possible, I’d like to avoid any more unnecessary stress between us. I need things to be normal with Peter… and this is  _not_ normal for us.

“Nah, man,” Peter’s mumbling next to my ear. “Mr. S is chill, no worries. Like a dad. Keep it on the D.L. and no problema, partner.”

If we were on stabler terms, I might try to reach my phone to record this. His retainers are making him sound like a drunk college boy. His skin is so warm. His breath is tingling the side of my neck, my toes curling in reponse. 

Maybe… maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a couple minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Now, I have a bit of a favor to ask :) I don’t want to spoil anything, but there’s going to be a scene where Peter will need a playlist of music.
> 
> I’ve been scouting songs that would fit his music taste from the movie, but I haven’t had much time. If you guys have any suggestions, I would really, really, really appreciate them! I’ll probably use a bunch of songs from the movie soundtrack, so those are the kind I’m looking for, though modern songs are great too! They’ll need to be upbeat, in the theme of Prom, but also a couple slower ones are needed as well. Oh dear, I’ve said too much :)
> 
> Please, if you have any in mind, I would love to hear them! (So far, my list is super short.) Additionally, I might make this into a real playlist on Spotify or 8Tracks if you guys are interested, so if you are, let me know!
> 
> See you guys tomorrow for the next chapter! (It'll be super short though :l like 300-400 words.)
> 
> \- Jane
> 
> P.S. I hope everyone had a wonderful break!


	15. Part 15

It’s 6:13 when I wake up again.

A faint brush of almost-sunlight is highlighting the window curtains, illuminating the rest of the room as if through a thick film. Still, everything is sharper now. I can actually see the buttons on the alarm clock, for one thing.

For another thing, I can finally see Peter - see him well enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to, or else trace the three freckles just under his jaw to mimic his hand thing from last night.  _Don’t even think about it._  But I do - think about it - and the ache that accompanies the thought verges on painful.  _This is too much. Maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t come back at all._

No, that’s not true. Not even slightly. I can handle this crush, no matter how deeply I keep sinking into it, but I couldn’t handle it if our fight actually ended my and Peter’s friendship.  _I just need to focus on the competition. I’ll deal with the emotional consequences of everything later. Today is about the team, about Michelle and all of her hard work to get us here. I cannot mess this up._

For that reason, I know I ought to force myself up, start getting ready, and steer my mind back in the right direction. Though… though maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wait another thirty to sixty seconds.

_God, why does he have to be so comfortable and warm?_

I’m still lying on top of him, like before. My body rises and falls slowly to the tide of his breathing. His arms are wrapped around me, loosely hugging my middle while his chin sits on the top of my head. My face is buried in his neck, hands holding onto his bare shoulders. Our ankles are still tangled together beneath the blanket. The… _problem_  is gone.

I let myself soak in the moment before it dissolves.

_I am really glad you came back, Peter. More than I should be. God, this is such a mess, isn’t it?_ I try my best to shut off my brain.

After thirty seconds, I lift my head up and carefully reach behind my back to push away the blanket and set Peter’s arms back on the bed. I move my feet to either side his legs, my hands similarly pressed into the mattress beside his shoulders, and I gently push myself up.

It’s far easier than last time, at least. Peter’s dead to the world.

I keep my eyes on his the entire slow crawl backward on the bed, however. I’m determined to drop to the floor the moment he wakes up - if he wakes up; I’m not sure how he might react to me hovering over his body while he sleeps.  _This probably looks so weird._

As I near the end of the bed, I feel a sudden burst of relief, realizing that I’ll have at least one answer within the next couple hours. After that little blip of an apology last night, those few sentences, I can tell Peter that the only thing I want him to do is explain why he came back. That’s all I’ll ask. For now.

Hopefully, things will go back to normal today.

From here I cannot - I refuse - to let my feelings get in the way of our friendship. I really can’t lose him; I know that now without doubt or hesitation. One argument, one night where I thought he might slip out of my life and never speak to me again, and it was like a nest of sharp wires had been shoved into my gut. I can’t risk that again.

Not to mention, sharing a bed for one night doesn’t erase that photo of him looking at Liz.  _God._  That image still tastes metallic, like a teaspoon of blood under my tongue. He doesn’t care about me in that way and he never will. Liz is who he likes. Liz is the type of person he likes. And I’m not Liz.

I need to remember that. 

I slip off the bed.

Before tiptoeing to the shower, I glance at him one last time. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he has that expression again, that look of disheartened longing from the picture. Or maybe it’s just a blank face from sleeping.

I wonder if he’s dreaming about her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> I apologize for how short this update is (I actually rewrote it today and it's double what it was lol). I know it's still not the happy, fluffy content I keep promising, but I swear, we'll get there! This fic has only spanned the course of fewer than 2 days so far, so there's plenty of time left.  
> Also, I'm still looking for music recommendations for Peter's playlist. If you have any, I could use them :) Thank you to those who did comment with songs, they'll be on the list! Besides those, I basically have the songs from the movie and a couple MIKA ones because Peter is obviously a huge nerd and I can't say anything else.  
> Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this chapter and I'll be back next Friday :)  
> \- Jane


	16. Part 16

An alarm is blaring, shocking me out of sleep like freezing water. I scramble to sit up without thinking. My eyes flash open to an empty bed.

I’m alone, the blanket neatly laid over me.  _She-?_

Alarm still ringing, I rush to the other side of the bed and pick up her phone. The screen reads, “ _Wake up now for an extra hour of studying!_ ”

I hit the off button and set it back down.

 _Jesus_. It’s like my entire body has been jumpstarted. I pause a minute to steady myself and absorb my surroundings.

The room is only barely beginning to glow with sunlight, everything still faint. Water’s running in the bathroom and the light under the door hazy.  _Oh. She’s in the shower._ Realizing a more (or less, I should say) awkward detail, I silently say a prayer of thanks: she must’ve gotten up recently and luckily, there’s nothing, um, going on, you know, downstairs like most mornings.

That’s an enormous bullet dodged. Well… maybe not  _enormous_.

My hands go to my hair, last night now rushing my memories like countless images and sensations condensed into a thousand bouncy balls all thudding down a staircase in my brain. All my senses are tripping over themselves trying to remember. The lying next to her, the trying to hold her hand, her - maybe awake? - cuddling me, being able to feel all of my stress from the last week melt away, and even the limbo of tipping slowly over the edge of sleep with my arms around her, holding her, and wanting to never actually fall asleep - instead exist in that moment for as long as humanly possible. If I hadn’t’ve keep pinching myself to make sure it was real (and, you know, maybe to stay awake a little bit longer), I might have thought it was all another one of those dreams again.

I  _have_  to text Ned.

This all seems crazier with the sun coming up. Just the smell of coffee sneaking in from under the hallway door is like an adrenaline shot to the face. I roll back over to my side of the bed and grab my phone from the floor where I left it last night. Next to it is my retainer case.  _Oh yeah_. I take those out before I start typing. 

“Ned”

_Whoosh._

“Ned”

_Whoosh._

“Ned”

_Whoosh._

“Ned”

_Whoosh._

“Ned”

_Whoosh._

“Ned”

_Whoosh._

I set the phone on the bed.  _He probably isn’t up yet. I should calm down first. Yeah, calm down first._  I take in a deep breath. Slowly, I let it out. I bring my hands to my hair, ready to pull it out.  _Just be patient. It could be a while._  

_Ding!_

Nearly leaping out of my skin, I try to snatch my phone back up - but I knock it across the bed and scramble for it like a dog with a toy. Even when I pick it up, I drop it again.  _Shit, Peter. Chill out._

I fumble to pick the phone up again. This time, it sticks.

“Ned: what happened last night????”

“Dude its hard to explain I just woke up but let me try it might take a minute to type.”

_Whoosh._

I start typing about how she did what she always does to MJ but this time it was with me last night and I’m wondering if it’d be weird to talk about how it felt to cuddle a girl like that or if I even should, you know, since it’s _her_  and maybe she wouldn’t want me to tell anyone  _if_ she even remembers it, but then I realize that situation itself doesn’t make sense without going back to the actual fight but I  _really really really_  don’t even want to think about that right now. I’m trying to resist the urge to grab a pillow and shove my face into it. Then again, I can’t do that without remembering how she used  _me_ as her pillow only a few hours ago and how I need to remind myself that, like she said with MJ,  _it doesn’t mean anything_. I wish it did though. God I wish it did. I mean, it did for me.  _Shit, I’m in so deep - this is such a mess._

The typing bubbles start on Ned’s side for a moment. Then they stop.  _Shit, I’m supposed to be typing._  Then I hear a door in the hallway open and close. There’s a soft tap on my door.

 _Of course, duh, that’s way smarter._  I don’t know why I didn’t just walk over in the first place.

I flip out of the bed and rush to the door. I swing it open to reveal Ned’s face.

“ _So?_ ” he whispers, eyes wide, going up on his tiptoes to see around me and into the room.

_Where do I begin?_

“Dude,” I start, “It’s crazy. She’s in the shower, so I don’t know how long I can talk, but-”

“And you’re not in there with her?” Ned says, mock-surprised.

“Ned! That’s not funny- so, so, _so_  not funny. Why would you say that? I have enough to think about and that’s, that’s just not cool!”

Ned stifles his laughter and puts his hands up, one covering his mouth for a half-second.

“Okay, I get it, I get it. That’s inappropriate. My bad. Go on.”

“I-I-I don’t know. We had this really serious fight and I was just- just such a dick. Like thinking about it right now, I want to punch myself in the face-”

“Do it.”

Again, Ned’s trying not to laugh, which only makes my brain scatter more. I’m suddenly aware that my hands are shaking and flying as I speak.

“- and like we worked some stuff out sort of- well, no, we yelled about stuff, but I think we can talk about it today! And make it better, you know? Conflict resolution stuff. Anyway, I left for a while - sorry about not answering you, but you did totally ignore me knocking on the door so I don’t feel that bad - and I was on the roof thinking it all over and I realized everything I’ve been freaking out about wasn’t even that bad! I’m gonna have to call Aunt May soon, but I don’t want to talk to her while Y/N’s in the shower just in case she comes out. And then I was trying to warm up and just use some of the blanket and she just- just sort of… and I-”

“What did you do, Peter?” Ned asks, now serious. “Peter, what did you do?”

Ned’s leaning forward, his eyes now less amused and more concerned. I stumble for a second shaking my head, then step around him just to check that there isn’t anyone in the hallway. I keep one hand on the doorframe and stay half in and half out of the room while I sputter out an answer.

“I didn’t do anything! And I don’t know if that’s wrong given the situation because, I mean, but I  _did_  kind of, a little bit, try to wake her up? She muttered something, like ‘shut up’ and I thought she might be awake but now I’m thinking probably not-”

“Peter!” Ned cuts me off.

I take a breath, still shaking, trying to steady myself against the doorframe.  _Why is this so hard to say out loud?_

“We,” I start again. “We sort of cuddled all night by accident -”

“Accident? You don’t just  _accidentally_ -”

The water cuts off.

We freeze. Ned and I both whip our heads toward the inside of the room, mouths still half open. I look back at Ned who might as well be mirroring my panic because he seems stunned too. The shower curtain’s scraping against the bar. I flinch.

_Time to do this. It’s cool. It’ll be fine. You’re Spider-Man._

“You gotta go!” I whisper, hands flailing.

Ned nods rapidly and turns to his and MJ’s door.

“Wait!” I grab his arm. “Can you bring me a shirt,  _please?_ ”

Ned slides his card in the other door and looks at me, torn between laughter and pity.

“MJ said I’m not allowed to. She said she’ll bring you your clothes when you deserve them.”

My hands go to my hair again. I really think I might pull all of it out.

 _Just be cool._  I swivel back and rush to the bed. I sit on it.  _That’s weird._  I stand up.  _That’s weirder._  Should I lay back down and pretend to be waking up?  _No, of course not. Why would you do that?_

I hear a bag unzipping. I really wish I had anything besides swim trunks to wear.

I can taste my mouth.  _Ugh_. I open the mini fridge and grab a water bottle. There’s floss on the dresser by the window, I remember Ned leaving it there.

As quickly as I can, I floss, throw out the string, ball up some more and swish it in my mouth with water.  _That’s a lot of mint going almost nowhere_. It’s not great but it isn’t like I can barge into the bathroom for my toothbrush. I spit it into the trash can - or try to; it sticks to my bottom lip and I nearly panic as I tear it off with my fingers and throw it away.

_Just be cool, Peter. You don’t have to freak out. You just… have to find a way to apologize that makes up for leaving one of your best friends to cry here alone and spend the eve of a big competition sad and probably hating you completely._

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

I feel like such an ass, waiting for her without a shirt.  _It sounds like a dick move Flash would do to someone._  And he’s the worst.

I turn around to the bed and grab at the sheet, tugging until it comes off, knocking pillows onto the floor at the same time. I wrap it around my shoulders and sit at the foot of the bed.  _There. That’s probably less weird_. I shake my shoulders loose and try to be natural, putting my hands in my lap.

The doorknob turns.

_Oh, God._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I know I said I couldn't update today, but I needed a study break so here we are! Let me know what you guys think :)
> 
> \- Jane
> 
> P.S. This is super dumb, but as much as I love being validated when you guys tell me you like the writing, I'd love to know how you're reacting the story and its characters - like which parts made you upset or happy or made you laugh. I get so super excited about those reviews! Anyway, that's just a random thought :) I love you guys for all of your feedback!


	17. Part 17

_Oh, God._

The door opens.

Y/N has her hair up in those towel tornado things like Aunt May always does. She’s wearing sweatpants and some sort of tank top undershirt thing.

_And I’m wearing a bedsheet._

She freezes when she sees me, stalling in the doorway.

For a split second, we stare at each other. This might be the worst possible moment, but I can’t help noticing how pretty she is right now. It’s twisting the knots in my stomach even tighter than before.

“Y/N I’m really-”

“Why do you look like a hobbit?”

Of everything I thought she might say, I wasn’t expecting that.  _How does she always take me off guard?_  Her eyes flit between the pillows strewn on the ground. I should’ve picked those up.  _This definitely looks weird._

“Ned, um, Ned and MJ took my clothes,” I say, looking down at my make-shift cloak.

“Oh. That sounds like something they’d do.”

It takes everything in me to not stand up and pull her into a bear hug. With all of my energy right now I’m somewhat afraid I would actually hurt her.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. About everything.  _Everything_. Are-are you okay?”

She looks as taken aback as I probably did when she called me a hobbit. Slowly, she walks forward a bit, just a couple steps.

“I’m… I’m a little off. I’m really nervous. About- about the competition. I just feel like I should be studying, you know?”

 _That can’t be all. It can’t._  But I think of her alarm and how  _of course she even made time to study_  when she planned this trip. It means so much to her and MJ. But still, that can’t be all she’s thinking about. She basically tucked me in after she woke up this morning. After how awful I’ve acted this week, she still cared enough to make sure I was comfortable.  _She couldn’t hate me and still be that considerate, could she?_  Of course she could. _She’s always been that kind to people, even when they don’t deserve it._

“Look, I-I know I’ve really been messing up the last few days and yesterday crossed a lot of lines,” I say, desperation bleeding into my voice, “like a million lines, and I feel like there’s something I should- that I should be doing right now to make up for it. I mean, I should never have freaked out like that. That… that was bad. Really,  _really_ bad. And I should never have left because-”

“Peter,” she interrupts, “you don’t have to worry about it. I get it. I was yelling too. It’s not like it was one-sided.” 

As she shakes her head slightly, her eyes drop to the carpet. She’s blinking repeatedly and wringing her hands. Judging by the muscles working in her jaw, she’s either grinding her teeth or biting her cheek. I feel like she just wants me out of the room.

 _She goes quiet when something gets at her._ The more I think about it, the only times I’ve noticed her get quiet is after Flash has pushed her too far, finally pushed past her limits. _I really am being Flash-level awful. Shit._

Part of me wants to run outside quickly and call Aunt May. She would know exactly what to do, exactly how to handle this.

“I _want_  to worry about it,” I blurt out, suddenly remembering what she said about worrying for me last night. “I didn’t - I never realized how much stress I cause you every day. It’s completely unfair. And I’m going to fix that immediately. Like  _now it’s fixed and it’s never happening again_  kind of immediately. Here,” I say, scrambling to pick up my phone. I unlock it and start typing.

“Hey. Update: Safe in hotel room. Everything’s cool, just trying to make things better. What are you up to? I’m really sorry I’m a chronic moron. What can I do? I’ll do anything you want.”

 _Whoosh._ Her phone dings. Behind me. On the nightstand.

_Damn it._

“That… that would’ve made a lot more sense if you had your phone right now,” I try, offering my best  _I’m an idiot, but please, be patient with me for one more second_ face before I rush over to the table, grab it, rush back, and hand it to her.

Her fingers brush mine as she takes the phone and we both flinch.Was _she awake when I tried to hold her hand last night?_ I sit back on the bed again, my heart pounding.  _Calm down, Peter._

She reads the message and smiles a little. She almost laughs. It’s small, but it’s enough to know I’m getting somewhere. She pauses, sets the phone down, then takes her hair out from the towel, putting the towel on the dresser. She’s looking down at her hands, her expression faltering again.

“Peter,” she says, “can I ask you something?”

Panic buzzes in my brain.  _What if she asks about the texts from yesterday?_  I want to be honest with her from now on (well, as much as I can be while definitely  _not_  telling her how I feel), but I don’t have any explanation for all those texts.  _Ned and I were just texting each other about how Delmar should cater prom?_ She won’t believe that.

“Y-yeah. Of course. What’s- what’s up?”

She walks over to the window and turns, facing me, hands fidgeting behind her on the sill. The first word stops before it starts. She presses her lips together for a moment. I swear a sprinkle of red is lining her collarbone, threatening to creep up.  _Is something wrong or is she embarrassed about last night too?_

“Why did you come back?” she asks, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “You know, after everything?”

_Because if we hadn’t been fighting, our situation last night would’ve been an exact fantasy I’ve had for months now. Because I wanted to talk to you. Because you’ve been the only person I’ve wanted to talk to for the last week._

“I shouldn’t have left at all,” I say. Then I realize what else she might’ve meant. “If-if this is about, you know, being on the bed instead of the floor, I’m really, really sorry. I  _meant_  to sleep on the floor but it was so cold and I was going to get warm while my towel was drying, you know? I-I must’ve fallen asleep or something. I-”

The knot of her eyebrows and the slight tilt of her head tells me she isn’t buying my half-lie.  _At least there isn’t any anger._

“Peter-”

“I know, I know.” For some reason, her saying my name like that makes me feel brave enough for a sliver of honesty. “It wasn’t really an accident which is-”

“ _Peter_ ,” she stresses. “I meant, why did you come back to the room? Why are you here, now, talking to me?”

_She does want me gone._

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” I stand up, practically jumping off the bed to leave. “You don’t want me around right now and I get-”

As I start toward the door, she steps forward and grabs my arm. Well, my arm through the bed sheet fabric.  _I probably look like such a kid right now._

“That’s not what I meant either,” she says earnestly. “I _do_  want you here. Last night I thought you hated me. I thought you never wanted to talk to me again. I… I mean to ask, why aren’t you still mad at me like you were when you left? What changed?”

She’s so close. I can see her pupils expanding as her eyes search mine and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so vulnerable, a fact that’s halting and freezing my brain. Her hand is heating my entire arm, all the way up to my shoulder. Blush spreads through my chest and I’m glad, in the moment, for the sheet, even if I do look like a hobbit like she said. God, her eyes really are super close - like last night, even if I couldn’t see them in the dark. Thinking about that tightens the knots in my chest again.  _Stop thinking about all of that before your face turns into a tomato._

“Peter?”

I nod probably too much and stare at the towel on the dresser as if it’ll help me concentrate.

“I’ve been so stupid lately,” I confess, trying to remember what I rehearsed in my head last night. “I let myself get wound up about mostly nothing. I-I was mad at you for stuff totally in my head. Being alone for a bit made me think through everything you said. And you- you were right. I mean, I hope I’m smart enough to be reasonable and admit when I’m an ass. You know? From now on, I’ll always talk to you first. I’ll  _always_  talk to you first. And because- I came back because we’re friends. _Best_  friends.” I can practically hear Karen’s voice in head. Aunt May and Ned’s too. “Because I care about you. I think about you and I worry about you too, even if I haven’t acted like it. I love you and I don’t want to screw things up because I thought you were keeping secrets.”

 _Holy shit_. I can’t believe I said  _love_. I didn’t even mean it that way. I meant it, but from the years of friendship, not just a crush.  _Maybe she didn’t notice_.

My arms are numb, dead weight. My tongue tastes like sawdust.

_Say something. Please, say something._

For a moment, she doesn’t move. Then her hand loosens its grasp on my arm and she lets go.

 _This is bad. I shouldn’t have said it._  My gut falls. My heart is racing and I know how badly the red in my face is deepening. Her reaction is proof of everything I’ve told Aunt May and Ned and Karen: I  _can’t_ tell her how I feel. It’ll only mess us up.  _You idiot, why would you say that?_

I do a stupid, stupid thing, since I’m in the habit of it now and I doubt this can get any more awkward than it already is. I step forward and pull her into a hug, the bed sheet wrapping around us like a cape as I close my eyes as tightly as possible, bracing myself for the emotional impact of what’s about to come.  _Please, Y/N, what are you thinking?_  Her skin is still a little wet from the shower and  _so_ warm. I think my chest might explode. 

For four insanely awkward seconds, Y/N remains stiff.

_Let go, dude. The longer you hold on, the weirder it gets._

But then she softens, arms tightening around my torso as she takes three deep breaths.

She’s nodding quickly when she rises on her tiptoes, nudging my arms out of the way so she can wrap hers around my neck. I readjust and accidentally lift her up a little, but she only squeezes tighter, still nodding and now laughing.

Something clicks in my brain without warning.

If she  _isn’t_  dating MJ and she definitely doesn’t like Flash and she’s actually as happy as I am to be friends again, then maybe there  _is_  a chance.

Then again, that’s something to think about another time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a mini chapter tomorrow! (It's only a page-ish, so it's short.)  
> \- Jane


	18. Part 18

Peter’s face is half-buried in my hair, yet again. _I could get used to this._ Wrapping my arms around his neck, the hug becomes a lot… closer.  _As if I minded._  I laugh at the thought before I can help myself - but I stop immediately.  _I can’t seem too eager. If he figures out how I feel, this really could be the end._

I realize I’ve been nodding my head for a weird amount of time, but I almost can’t help it. Fewer than 24 hours ago I tried hugging him to say exactly what he’s just told me. We’re best friends and we love each other. Maybe not in the same way, but  _still_. If the ocean broke through the window behind me to wash me away, I couldn’t feel more overwhelmed with relief.

 _As long as things just stay normal, we’re going to be okay._  I squeeze tighter again before letting go.

“Things are back to normal now?” I ask, taking a small step backward. 

Peter grins, nodding so quickly his frizzed morning hair seems almost cartoonish. For how intensely swerving the last few days have been emotionally, I’m surprised to feel so light and see Peter so happy. I relax and breathe in, finding unspeakable comfort in the crinkles around his eyes.  _Things are okay_. I’m grinning too, I realize. I press my lips together, though I’m unable to stop smiling completely.

“Back to normal,” he affirms, reaching out his hand.

As we shake hands I roll my eyes. This is such an old joke. The first time we met and fumbled through introducing ourselves, he shook my hand - as if sitting next to each other in class warranted the formal conduct of a business meeting. Now, though, given our circumstances, the once awkward exchange feels like a pact. It reassures me. It  _almost_  reminds me of all the other physical contact we’ve shared over the last few hours, but at the moment, for the sake of my mental health, I try not to let it.

As our hands fall from each other’s, I hear Peter’s voice in my head.  _You guys touch each other way more than you touch me or Ned!_  I always thought Peter didn’t like physical contact for some reason. He never initiates it at least. I’ll ask him about it. Later, though. Right now, my brain is nagging me that I still have to awkwardly apologize to everyone else on the team. The team.  _Shit._

“You should start getting ready,” I blurt. “Ned and MJ spared you an extra towel in the bathroom. And you should really brush your teeth. You smell like retainers. It’s kind of gross.”

Peter almost opens his mouth to breathe in my direction but thinks better of it, instead taking an extra step back with his hands up, his cheeks reddening despite his smile.  _And there’s the Peter humor I haven’t seen in awhile._

“That’s fair,” he says, covering his mouth with his hand. “You know, you sound like Aunt May.”

“Good,” I reply, biting back a grin. “You should listen to her more often.”

Peter smiles and shrugs, the bed sheet making a dragging sound against his trunks.

“Maybe. Um, uh, also, would you mind asking for my stuff from MJ? She said she’d give it back once I ‘deserved it,’ so I don’t think she’ll trust my word without proof.”

“Yeah, I’ll go get it.” I wave my hand as if to say,  _Of course, no problem_. 

I don’t mind. In fact, I’m glad he asked.

_Finally, I can talk to Ned and Michelle._


	19. Part 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, first off: I am so so so sorry!
> 
> I thought I posted here about the delayed chapters but as it turns out... that post was only a reply I wrote to someone's comment. My bad! I always want to let you guys know if I run into problems, so I'll try to make sure I don't make the same mistake twice.
> 
> That being said, the next chapter is set for January 26. I have nothing written so far and classes are already overwhelming my schedule. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's much longer than usual so I hope that makes up for the lack of updates. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! And thank you to everyone for your previous comments - they really mean the world to me. (Plus, they're super motivating!)
> 
> \- Jane

Now that things with Peter are on the mend, my brain can swing back around to MJ and Ned. What  _were_  they playing at yesterday? What were all the messages about?

I hear Peter turning the shower on as I open the door to slip out. My senses are shocked awake. I shiver, surprised by the cold of carpet under my feet.

 _Coffee_. The hallway smells like morning and breakfast: dewy grass clippings, some distant earthy trees, and a hint of (thankfully bearable now) chlorine. All of that piggybacks the faint whispers of packaged blueberry muffins, orange juice, and coffee. The trademark scent of hotels everywhere.

I close my eyes as the door shuts behind me. I take a second to breathe it in, leaning my back against the door.

I  _love_  hotels. There’s something about them that can keep me calm, even in the final hours before our competition. I think it’s the stillness of hotel air, the lack of immediate time.

I open my eyes and turn to knock on MJ’s door.

But someone’s already there, staring at me, posed as if he were about to knock on that door too.

 _Eugene “Flash” Ass-Hat-Rich-Boy-Bitch-Boy_. His hair is generously gelled and he’s already in uniform. We don’t need to get on the bus for another hour and a half. His expression is a surprised sort of blank with a trace of an almost-frown. He looks the way I feel: totally taken off guard. _Why is he here?_

I picture his expression last night, gleeful and laughing after everything that had happened, mocking me and Peter like he always does - like he always does to everyone almost all the time about everything.

My blood boils.

“Flash, what the  _hell_  are you doing here?”

I speak as a reaction without thinking. He scoffs. The former trace of frown is now a pronounced, twisted irritation. He takes a step back and turns to face me better.

“Excuse me? More like what are  _you_  doing in  _there_? That’s not your room. That’s Penis Parker’s room.”

I resist the urge to punch him. I bite my cheek before speaking.

“What?” I ask. “What do you want?”

He looks taken aback. I know I’ve always been kinder to him than the rest of the team. Maybe  _patient_  is a more fitting word. I almost feel guilty for how I’ve just reacted, but I don’t - I can’t. I can’t let myself. The last thing I need is for him to get involved in anything right now. I hope an unusual dose of aggression will hold him back.

“Nothing,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, backing up. “Absolutely nothing.”

He turns on his heel and walks back down the hall, his hands shoved in his pockets.

That’s weird enough to be concerning.  _I didn’t actually think that would work so easily_. I push those thoughts away and knock on Michelle and Ned’s door.

I hear a heavy double  _thud_ , then quick footsteps.

Michelle swings the door open and ushers me in.

_So that’s where the coffee smell was coming from._

A pot is brewing on the dresser, two cups already full. Ned has his laptop open, typing, but he stops and grins when he sees me. Michelle is hesitantly half-smiling. Both appear to be waiting.

Enveloped in the fresh air sweeping through their balcony screen door and the warm smell of coffee, standing between these two with those faces makes me feel like I’m in the world’s oddest interrogation.

Ned finishes some quick typing before he closes his laptop.

Given everything from yesterday, I have no idea where to start.

I feel my pulse quicken a bit as I try to articulate my lasting, undeniable confusion. My heartbeat is tapping the skin of my neck just below my ear.  _Say something._

“M- Ned?” I start. “Guys. How and why-? What has been going on?”

My legs threaten to shake.  _Here’s the adrenaline rush back from last night._

“ _So?_ ” Ned asks. He’s still grinning. It’s his  _here comes the gossip grin_  that he would never admit to having, but does. “I didn’t hear any yelling this morning.”

Is that supposed to be the total sum - the answer to everything? A congratulation on not arguing with Peter? As if their behavior had been  _normal?_

My eyes dart from one to the other.

I’m almost at a loss for words. I really thought they might begin with an apology.

“What? What the hell has been going on?” I ask, crossing my arms.

That may be the best place to start.

Michelle walks over, pats me on the back, and guides me, not ungently, to sit on the third bed - what should have been  _my_  bed - situated perpendicular to theirs, making a horseshoe shape of mattresses. Michelle jumps backward to sit in the middle of hers. I sit on the edge of mine, elbows pushing down on both knees to keep either leg from bouncing with nerves.

“You’ll need to be more specific,” she says.

I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or sincere. I shake my head slightly, half tempted to roll my eyes.

“What in the world was going on yesterday?” I clarify. “With the texting and the calling?”

Ned stops smiling and looks at Michelle.

Michelle glances at him. _I know that face._

“Guys! That’s what I’m talking about! Instead of-of that,” I motion between them, “just tell the truth. I  _know_  those looks. They’re for coming up with or confirming the immediate use of a lie - we all know that. And don’t you dare lie to me after yesterday. You, both of you, should be apologizing.”

Michelle’s face loses all sign of her former near-amusement. She nods, and I know she’s not joking anymore.

“You’re right,” Ned says quickly. “We’re sorry. I thought things were cool now. But it makes sense if you’re upset.” He pauses. “It did sound pretty intense in there last night.” He nods toward the wall, his face falling a bit.

I stare.

“Yeah, I know. I was there,” I say. “And no one came to intervene. Not even once. But that’s not the problem. Peter and I are fine, I think.” I pause, trying to remember to breathe and relax. “Right now, all I want to know is why you guys were messaging each other all day. Why were you ignoring me?”

Michelle answers first, practically cutting Ned off.

“We were trying to figure out what Peter was so upset about. And… and we didn’t want to have to tell you that it was, well, about you.” Her hands gesture my way as she shrugs apologetically. “We’re sorry though. We didn’t want to lie, but we didn’t know how what to tell you.”

Oddly, despite already knowing Peter’s weird moods were about me, that first sentence still twinges a bit. I suppose it was well meant then, for them to try and hide it from me while figuring it out. I exhale slowly, my hands going to my hair.

 _Still, they could’ve spoken to me more._  I won’t start a fight for the sake of a poorly timed oversight though.

“So,” I ask, “what did he say in all of those texts? And that call?”

 _It can’t be anything worse than what he said last night._  Still, my finger itches as I speak, nervous for the answer.

“The call was to May,” Ned says. “And so were most of the messages. Peter wasn’t exactly answering us.”

Michelle nods, biting at a fingernail before speaking.

“Yeah. She’s been trying to fix things all week. She noticed way before we did.”

I didn’t expect that.  _May’s been involved?_  I remember what Ned said about her arguing with Peter Friday morning.  _“Y/N might.”_  What had they been talking about?

“What do you mean?”

Ned looks at me, confused.

“You do know that May cares about you, right?” His eyes narrow in concerned. “She loves all of us. Like, a lot. Once she noticed Peter was acting weird about you, she tried to talk to him and sort it out before he did something stupid.”

“Clearly, it didn’t work in time,” Michelle says, offering a half laugh, glancing at the wall separating our two rooms.

I relax my shoulders and stare at the door handle to the hallway.  _May figured this out? Before Michelle?_ I think of all those daydreams about Peter, about May always being somewhere inside them, always somewhere near: quiet but vital to everything.

“Oh,” is all I can think to say.

_Still, I wish you guys had just told me._

That sounds like something Peter said last night.  _“Why haven’t you guys just told me and Ned?”_ Even if his assumption was wrong, the concept is the same. It’s the same thing.

I pause. Then I sit up straighter.

“I think I’ll go back to the room,” I say, standing suddenly. “I need Peter’s clothes though, he said you guys had them.”

Michelle nods, pushes herself off the bed, and goes to get a bag from the closet.

“Here,” she says, handing it to me. “We’ll sort out the room stuff later, but make sure you and Peter are ready on time. And try to get your head in the decathlon game.”

I nod.

Ned says something to me but my brain’s straying like a dazed cat. I say something in reply before walking to the door and slipping out.

I pause between the doors to collect a deep breath. I have no idea what I’m about to tell Peter but I know I need to tell him something. My stomach is doing mini-trampoline jumps. And not in a good way.  _I’m so stupid._

I unlock the door and push it open before I have time to talk myself out of it. I brace myself, arms tense at my sides.

Peter isn’t there. The water’s still running in the bathroom.

_Okay, maybe that’s for the best._

I need a minute. I’ve only just now realized Peter wasn’t completely in the wrong. I’ve been making mistakes too. Plenty of them.

I think back on the last 24, 48, and 72 hours. All the stages of fear and doubt and anxiety.

 _Is this how Peter felt this whole time with me and Michelle?_  I mean, we do text each other at least a few times every day while we’re with him and Ned. And our little languages are their own form of secret-keeping. They always have been.

_Shit._

I glance around the room. It might be empty, but it’s still messy. I rush over to the bed and start putting it back together and picking up pillows, just to have something to do for a couple minutes.

_I’m so stupid._

Has he really felt this left out for  _that_  long? All this time that we’ve been friends and Michelle and I have discluded him and Ned regularly, _so_  regularly. How long has he felt this way?

I shake out the blanket and try to get it to cover the mattress as evenly as possible.

I know Ned isn’t bothered by any of it, he’s always been fine with me and Michelle keeping little secrets. He’s even said so a thousand different times, like when the two of us can’t stop laughing at some snapchat we’ve sent each other (usually of the boys at awkward and hilarious angles).

 _“I don’t mind if you guys make jokes on those tiny little cell phones,” he’d say. “I knew who Spider-Man was before anyone else. And you know what? That’s priceless. Whatever memes you guys are sending each other, those are cheap.”_ He loved to point that out. Then he’d get serious. _“But for real, if those are more embarrassing pictures, just make sure they’re under ‘My Eyes Only’ on your accounts. I’m not letting you guys accidentally show Betty another picture where it looks like Peter and I are kissing. Really. Never again. I’m serious. It’s already happened a bizarre number of times.”_

But Peter never said anything. Ever. At most, he’d glance at our hands, both of us typing away, and ask if we were still paying attention.

_Could I really have missed all of this?_

Holy shit.

I try to smooth out the blanket, pulling a couple corners as I walk around to the other side.

And he’s been so desperate this morning for things to just go back to normal, so happy to get back to where we were last week. He didn’t even bring this up. He probably won’t. He’s willing to just put up with it.

I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. Peter trusted me, trusted each of us, with an insanely serious secret… and the whole time, Michelle and I have been so stupid. We laughed all the time, any time he would ask us what we were talking about together. The worst - the most idiotic part of it - is it’s always been such trivial things. Little jokes about- about _nothing_.

I start tossing the pillows back near the headboard.

No wonder he thought we were dating. Who wouldn’t suspect something after all this time? And from the beginning, none of our conversations really needed to be kept from him or Ned; most of the fun was simply in watching them try to figure it out. We were only teasing them. I never realized how it might seem from the other side.

_God, Peter. I am so sorry._

* * *

The shower knobs squeak off. I stand up. Then, remembering the bag, I grab it and walk to the bathroom door.

“Hey, Peter? I’ve got your clothes. And… and I need to- well, I need to say something.”

I probably could’ve waited until after he was dressed and out of the bathroom to say that last part, but then again, I have to give him his clothes anyway and I don’t know if I could wait another minute to admit how badly I need to talk to him.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Give me just a minute. Can you put my stuff by the, um, by the door?”

I set the bag down and go back to sit on the bed. I turn a bit and adjust the pillows like a nervous habit.

After a minute, the door peeks open and Peter’s hand snatches the bag.  _Like it would be so terrible for me to see you in a towel._  I almost laugh, quickly feeling a bit lighter already. Even though I feel awful right now, at least I know he’ll accept the apology; otherwise, he wouldn’t’ve agreed to be friends before I realized I needed to give one.

_Just breathe._

Finally, the door opens completely and Peter walks out in his uniform. Like most mornings after a night spent at his apartment, I have to resist the temptation to imagine running my fingers through his wet hair. Unlike most mornings, I also have to resist the temptation to remember how at one point, around 3 a.m. I think, I distinctly recall half-waking up for a minute and actually doing that. Thinking of this then reminds me not to think of the half-sigh half-groan sound that came from Peter’s lips when my fingers ran through his curls.  _Shit._

“Y/N?”

Peter’s looking at me curiously, slowly placing the bag on the floor near the dresser.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?” he asks. “You look like you’re… like you’re not totally here.”

I shake my head and pray my face isn’t blushing. He stands up straighter and starts to walk over to the bed.

“Sorry, just thinking. I-I need to apologize.”

Peter shakes his head before he sits next to me.

“No, you don’t,” he says, shifting on the bed, his hands fidgeting. “It was all on me, I was- I was the one who acted like, well, a moron.  _I_ should apologize. What I said before wasn’t enough, not… not even close.” He exhales and his eyes fall to the carpet and I can tell he’s concentrating on something. “I was thinking about it and there’s so much-”

“Peter, please,” I interrupt, my hand accidentally knocking against his as I start to explain. “I messed up too. I didn’t realize how shitty it is to be on the outside of something, you know? Of course you do. Sorry. That’s the point. Even if it’s just a- a stupid conversation. And those conversations with me and MJ were never anything that was a big deal. I really want you to know that.” I fold my hands in my lap. “I’m really sorry we used them to mess with you and Ned.”

Peter looks back up to my face. He’s half curious, half… something I don’t get yet.

_I should explain better than that. Like I wanted them to explain about yesterday._

“When we’re texting each other,” I keep going, “it’s only stupid stuff. Like….” I pause, my scattered brain running through our most recent secret conversations, struggling to remember. “Like… like how when Ned said you should have Karen keep track of the average length of your webs the other day, MJ sent me something like, ‘I think Peter should do that alone on his own time, I mean, doesn’t Tony Stark have access to all Karen’s recordings?’”

I feel my face flush. That didn’t sound nearly as awkward in my head as it did out loud.  _Jesus, why would I not pick a different example?_

Peter’s eyebrows are raised and his expression seems torn between wanting to ask a question and really  _not_  wanting to ask a question. Still, he’s waiting for me to say  _something_.

“The point is,” I say quickly, “that must’ve sucked for you, to be on one side of a fence and not know what’s happening on the other. I’m really sorry it took all of this for me to notice. If yesterday for me was anything like… well, every day for you, I can’t apologize enough. I had no idea.”

Peter’s smiling now. There’s a light in his eyes I’m struggling to translate.

“It’s totally okay,” he says. “Honestly, I’m just glad things are good with us again. I mean, I’d appreciate it if you and MJ didn’t message each other that much when we’re all together, but it’s not up to me. For now, for the rest of the trip, can we maybe agree to wait until we get back home to bring up that sort of stuff?”

I nod instantly. Relief sinks into my skin. I still feel guilty, but it’s fading some.

“Yes. Absolutely. I think that’s a good idea. We need to focus on the competition.”

Peter’s smiling, his posture relaxed. He’s looking at me again in that way I don’t understand. Something seems… different. His eyes are so close I can differentiate between all the shades of brown in his eyes, the lighter flecks closer to his pupils. The air doesn’t feel so cold as before.

Peter nudges his shoulder into mine, as if joking to push me off the bed.  _Peter actually initiated physical contact?_ That’s new. Definitely new.

“By the way,” he says, leaning back, “your phone went off a few times. At least one message is probably from May. She sent me one too.”

The bubble around us pops instantly - too soon - but still, I nod in reply and stand up to check it on the window sill. There are four unread messages.

The first is from May:

_If you’re awake, call me! Good morning and happy competition day!_

The last three… are from Flash. As soon as I open them and skim his words, the blood drains from my face and my throat closes up.

Eugene:  _I know you slept with Peter last night._

Eugene:  _Pretty sure that isn’t on the trip’s itinerary._

Eugene:  _Definitely not a Mr. Harrington approved activity_.


	20. Part 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick heads up, this is the first chapter from Ned P.O.V.!

This is straight-up the strangest weekend I’ve ever spent with Peter, Y/N, and MJ - and I’ve spent a  _ lot _ of weekends with them. I kind of saw it coming... Peter can be such a stubborn idiot sometimes, it was probably inevitable. But right now all I want to think about is getting off this bus and taking a nap. Then getting back to Queens and taking an even longer nap. This whole “thing” with them has given me too many second hand emotions. I’m exhausted.

Maybe this is what it’s like for men who get pregnancy symptoms after their girlfriend or wife tells them they’re having a baby. Like,  _ yeah I’m definitely involved in this but I shouldn’t be  _ this _ involved _ , you know? 

If Peter had just listened to me for once he could’ve avoided this whole weekend disaster in the first place and maybe everyone would be way less stressed out. After all, I’ve been nudging him to tell Y/N how he feels for over two months now  _ and _ I’m pretty sure he’s liked her for way longer anyway. 

Not that I’m still bitter or anything, but the only reason he even told me was because he got super obvious right before Christmas and I basically forced it out of him. Subtlety is not Peter’s thing, I realized.

First, all the way back in November, he begged me to rig our Secret Santa drawing so he’d get her name. (Honestly, I thought he just saw some easy gift the day before, bought it, and wanted to make sure he got her -- that way, he wouldn’t have to find something else if he picked me or MJ.) Then, a week before winter break, I caught him scrolling through his Snapchat memories of her in seventh hour that day she was home sick. (I  _ did _ think that was odd but two seconds later Betty asked me a question about our homework and I totally forgot about it.) After, when he  _ said _ he was going to Spidey it up after school, so he couldn’t come over, but instead went to bring her soup and the homework she’d missed - as himself, not even as Spider-Man - I probably definitely should’ve realized. (Somehow I never even noticed he’d been picking up extra copies of our assignments and visiting her other teachers between classes.)

What  _ did  _ finally give it away was the less-than-subtle, “Do you think we should put mistletoe up as, like, a decoration? You know, for Secret Santa?” while we were waiting in line at Target. (He dragged me there to get her final present.) 

Thirty seconds beforehand, I had told him that me and MJ were probably going home an hour earlier than planned that night because of the winter weather advisory thingy, but I didn’t think Y/N needed to since she lived closer to his apartment. Anyway, then he said that whole thing and took a long pause, looking at the aisle with fake holly and mistletoe and whatnot. When I asked  _ why _ , his face turned redder than the Target logo and he tripped over his words half a dozen times as the line moved forward. So that’s how I figured it out. Well... I waited until after we got the picture to start asking questions, and then I  _ knew it _ knew it.

At first, the idea of two of my friends dating was so… so strange and awkward, I was totally on board with his “just gonna wait it out and get over it” plan. By February though, it was obvious he definitely was _ not _ over it. Not even close. Zero progress made. Worse than ever, honestly. A complete failure. He spent  _ an hour and a half _ pacing around a flower shop on Valentine’s Day without buying anything. Two workers kept trying to offer suggestions but Peter couldn’t speak in a straight line to save his life, let alone process the color symbolism they were explaining. I was sure he was headed fast toward a mental break. 

By then, though, I’d gotten used to the idea. And it seemed like a good one. It made a lot of sense.

That’s why I finally told MJ. She probably already knew, since she notices the smaller stuff. Plus I really needed her help to move the bed and have somewhere to sleep. And because May gave me permission to blurt it out since Peter was being such a jerk. 

So, now we all know! Well, except Y/N, obviously. 

I do feel really guilty about avoiding her and making things worse yesterday, but things now are better...ish? Maybe? Based on this morning, though, maybe not….

This weekend has been so insane with them overall, and then, like some absurd red cherry on top of the tense and awkward sundae of everyone’s weekend, Y/N refused to compete today.

Why would she do that? She didn’t even warn the rest of us. She didn’t say a word to me, MJ, or Peter. We found out  _ last _ , after everybody else on the team.

Before the competition, a few hours ago, this whole other scene went down. 

MJ had just downed her coffee, so she could use her cup against the wall to eavesdrop on Peter (we thought we heard May’s ringtone), when we heard Y/N arguing with Mr. Harrington. About four seconds later, Peter must have heard it too because his door swung open and he did that white people half-jog down the hall. By the time MJ and I had poked our heads out to look, every door on our team’s side of the hallway was opened. All of us, half-dressed, standing in pairs, were listening to Y/N and Flash arguing with Mr. Harrington.

Seeing Y/N defend Flash is one thing. It happens a lot. Watching them argue  _ together _ though, against a teacher, was just... wrong. There was definitely something off there. 

Then Peter, who didn’t understand what was going on either, tried to interject and -- well, everything just got louder and more confusing and worse. MJ muttered something like, “ _ Oh, for fuck’s sake _ ,” before she rushed over too. Within fifty seconds everyone had shut up, the conflict was settled, and the doors started awkwardly closing with little  _ hush _ sounds. MJ put an arm around Y/N’s shoulders as they walked back to our room in silence. Peter trailed a few steps behind. If I know him at all, I’m pretty sure his expression meant he was torn between turning around to start something with Flash or else jogging up a bit to make sure Y/N was okay. Like usual though, he couldn’t make up his mind so he stayed where he was.

It took at least ten minutes to get any straight answers from Y/N. Maybe what she said was true, but she seemed more nervous than sick. Was she just freaking out from competition anxiety?

According to her, at least, Y/N told Mr. Harrington she was feeling too sick to compete. Mr. Harrington, however, said he really, _ really _ didn’t want Flash to have to take her spot. Flash, being next door to Mr. Harrington’s room, had heard everything and wanted it known that he was more than ready to compete this time, and that it was totally unfair to try to force Y/N to compete if she said she couldn’t and wasn’t feeling well. Mr. Harrington protested a bit more, apparently unconvinced and probably suspicious like the rest of us, so the three of them kept arguing until MJ put her foot down. (Peter was only in the argument for like a second since he couldn’t figure out what was happening.)

So, now we’re here. (Except Y/N.) On the bus. Almost back to the hotel.

The competition is over and MJ could not be more pissed. 

Well, I’m sure she could be… but let’s just say she’s not exactly happy.

Me? I’m going to make the best of a bad situation. Flash keeps nodding off in the seat in front of us, Peter and I have extra fries, and there’s  _ just _ enough of a gap between Flash’s neck and collar so we can slip a bunch in. That’s what he gets for tucking his shirt in so tight: a pouch of cold, celebratory french fries to lump down the back of his shirt.

That’s all the thanks he’ll get from us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I know it isn't particularly exciting given the complete lack of dialog, but I promise more interesting chapters will be on their way :)
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> \- Jane
> 
> P.S. I'm not sure when the next update will be. For now, I'll be safe and say in 3 weeks, though it could be sooner if my midterms lighten up. (Fingers crossed!)


	21. Part 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: this chapter is from Ned’s POV

By the time the hotel’s parking lot comes into view, Peter and I have filled Flash’s shirt with nineteen french fries, two chicken nuggets, and the pinched off end of a mustard soaked hamburger bun without waking him up. Behind us, the quick,  _thud-thud-thud-thud_ sound has started back up. MJ’s doing it again. Peter stopped her a few minutes ago, but I was surprised she listened even then. On my right, Peter lifts himself up a bit to kneel on our seat, facing her. 

There are seagulls flocked near the hotel entrance, still a little ways off. Man, what wouldn’t I give to shove Flash out the door once we’re close enough just to watch the birds swarm and peck him for the food we planted. But I shouldn’t think about that right now. MJ is upset… though, to be fair, she’d probably find it funny too.

“MJ,” Peter half-whispers, somewhere between awkward and gentle. “Come on. Get your head off the window. If we hit another pothole you’ll get a concussion.”

I turn to join the conversation.

“Yeah,” I say. “And we can’t risk having to deal with you concussed. It’d be a nightmare.”

MJ stares out the window without blinking, her face blank. I was hoping for a  _I get the point, I’ll try to lighten up face_ , so this is a set back.

“After today,” she says, still refusing to look at us, “I’m going for an amnesia-level impact.”

“MJ, it’s really not that–”

“I swear to God,” she continues, unbothered, “if I step one foot inside the hotel with my memory intact, I’m going to…. I’m going to spear Flash through the eye with that stupid…  _fucking_  trophy.”

MJ closes her eyes, shaking her head slightly against the vibrating glass. It’s strange. Her voice was actually pretty flat, like she didn’t really mean it, for once. I’m not even sure if she’s angry or… tired and upset? Her voice has been in a deadpan ever since we exited the stage and she seems as exhausted as Flash.

I look behind my shoulder.

He’s still sleeping, head half-bobbing over his chest. I wonder how late he must’ve been up last night if he hasn’t even noticed the smell (or feeling) of smushed french fries sticking to his skin. 

Further up, Mr. Harrington is talking with– well, more like to– the busdriver, and everyone else is reenacting the competition and laughing a little too hard, trying not to spray each other with the food in their mouths. 

I wonder if Cindy or Abe already texted Betty to tell her we won. 

I’m turning back around as Peter finishes wedging his jacket between the window and MJ’s temple. It doesn’t really matter though, since we’re almost to the entrance anyway. Still, she closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath. Maybe that’s a good sign? For now, I hope so.

If things had played out differently, today would have been perfect. Or maybe not. If Flash hadn’t answered that last question, we would’ve lost and that might’ve been worse, since this morning was so weird and Y/N could’ve been dragged into it and who knows what could’ve happened blame-wise and fight-wise. 

The bus is rolling to a stop when Mr. Harrington stands up. As the hotel comes into view behind him, it feels more calming and inviting than before, despite everything that happened last night and this morning and the day before and even just now with MJ. It seems like a good sign… despite the flock of creeping seagulls. I hate the way they hop from foot to foot to edge closer, like it’s some kind of freaky beady-eyed murder dance.

Everyone’s conversations finally dissolve until seagulls’ cries and the rumble of the engine are the only sounds left in the air.

“Alright, kids,” Mr. Harrington starts, almost tripping as bus lurches to full stop. “As requested, we have returned to the hotel where you can be bored out of your minds indoors, rather than doing fun, tourist-y things outdoors in our nation’s capital. But, then again, I guess that’s the millennial generation for you.”

He sort of smiles and shrugs half-heartedly, like he doesn’t even find his own joke that funny. He kinda looks dead on the inside.  _But, then again, that’s Mr. Harrington for you!_

I almost say that to Peter, but I stop myself. We all already know why nobody wants to do what we did last year. Joking about Mr. Harrington’s awkwardness might just make it more awkward, since Peter and I were, mostly, the whole cause of it. He shifts beside me.  _Does he feel guilty now, too?_

“Gen Z… actually,” he mutters. 

 _Nope_. I roll my eyes. Peter’s always had a thing for correcting teachers under his breath. Even when it got him in trouble, back in middle school at least, he’d still do it.

“What’s that?” Mr. Harrington cups his ear with his hand like,  _oh, you darn kids!_

This time, he is actually half-smiling, like we’re all back on track with some running joke.  _Maybe it was better when he looked dead inside._ His gags aren’t as funny as he thinks and I think maybe we should tell him that eventually. I get he’s trying to lighten the mood, but at what cost?

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington! I just– I said, we’re in Generation–”

 _Smack!_  Peter’s shouting finally wakes Flash up, who jerks his head back so quickly it hits the seat full force.

I laugh on impact. Everyone else is a bit confused when he jumps up, startled. Abe actually almost looks concerned. Then, Flash realizes there’s something inside his shirt. I hold my laughter in as much as possible and I catch Peter’s smirk from the corner of my eye.

“What the–!?”

Flash squirms and spins for a split second before yanking at his shirt like he’s covered in bugs. Since everyone watched me and Peter sneak the food down his shirt, they quickly catch onto what’s going on, the understanding lighting up their eyes.

“Whoa, whoa!” Cindy shouts, standing immediately with her hands waving like a warning. “Flash, let’s not repeat the chemistry incident again!”

I can’t help laughing now, and neither can anyone else. Well, MJ can. She’s watching, unamused, sinking down into her seat lower to avoid him completely. And Mr. Harrington– he’s as confused as Flash. The rest of us on the bus, even the driver who finally seems amused for the first time today, are snickering and doing their best not to snort.

Flash says something indistinguishable in reply before finally tearing the shirt up enough for the french fries and chicken nuggets to spill out. Shaking them loose, he turns to me and Peter. The dark circles under his eyes make him look even angrier. We shut our mouths immediately.

“Are you f–?”

Mr. Harrington, apparently bamboozled by the food flood, does that teacher,  _Hey, hey, hey, hey!_  shout.

Flash whips around, stumbling for half a second over his feet. Mr. Harrington gives him a questioning look, then glances back to the floor. He pauses before speaking again.

“Flash,” he says tentatively, clearly uncertain. “Clean up your mess before you exit the bus, please.” He nods to the seat and floor.

Flash starts to make an indignant sound, probably words of an angry protest, but stops.

Then… he doesn’t move or speak. There’s a super awkward staring contest between the two, student vs. teacher. Flash isn’t facing me anymore so I can’t see what his face looks like, but the collar of his jacket is trembling so badly it loosens some salt specks that fall onto his seat. Nobody’s laughing anymore– the grins are shifting off of everyone’s faces.

It’s definitely awkward now.

With a  _smack_  of hands against fake leather, MJ shoots up out of her seat, balling up Peter’s jacket to throw at his head, and marches out of the bus. Mr. Harrington practically jumps out of her way as she passes him, her stomps shaking the bus slightly.

It’s like a crack in super thin ice.

Abe stands up next, quickly.

“Oh good,” he says. “I love a spontaneous game of Follow the Leader.”

That’s a cue for the rest of us. MJ and Abe know how to diffuse – or at least distract – tense situations.

We all stand up and file out as quickly as possible. Our feet creak the joints of the bus and it shivers.

Neither Peter or I look back as we pass Flash… and it’s obvious that we’re avoiding him. The rest of the team is too, but not in the same way. And he knows it, just like everybody else.

For a split-second, I regret it.

Then, instead, I just start to hope that Y/N is feeling better so Peter and I can hang out with her to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,  
> I'm super happy to finally post something again! It may be a little while before the next chapter, but we'll see how it goes. For now, I know this chapter was pretty boring but there will be fluff to come, I promise :)  
> Let me know what you guys think!  
> \- Jane


	22. Part 22

The gift shop is the smallest part of the hotel and it’s still the size of three classrooms smushed together. It’s stacked with trinkets, magnets, mugs, glass miniatures, and all the other usual sort of souvenirs that glitter back at the sunlight peeking through the windows. Near the front of the store, it smells like a grandmother’s laundry room... likely because the air conditioning is blowing right in my face, making my eyelids click when I blink. 

I should get off my phone and go look around, rather than wait for the texting bubbles to pop up again. Oops.

Phone in my pocket, I take a moment to locate everyone. The team is dispersed throughout the aisles. Given how maze-ish the place is, it looks like everybody is in the middle of some slow-motion strategy game, related to either war or hunting.

On one side, near the stuffed donkeys and elephants, Cindy and Sally are flipping through postcards and travel guides. From here, I can’t hear what they’re whispering, but Cindy keeps glancing at Abe.

Abe is totally immersed in the stuffed animals a few feet away. He’s on FaceTime with his dad, holding up various stuffed animals, asking which his sister would like best or if she’s too young to align herself to a political party yet. His dad is laughing and shaking his head while Abe settles on, “I’ll get her the teddy bear with the top hat-- I think it looks pretty politically neutral.” After reminding his dad not to tell anyone about the gifts he’s getting the rest of their family, Abe says goodbye and walks over to show Cindy and Sally the stuffed bear.

MJ is in the middle of the shop. She must be in a hurry, since she buys a  _ Notorious RBG _ sweatshirt, rips the plastic bit of the tag off with her teeth, and practically shoves herself into it headfirst within 50 seconds. Either she’s gone from mildly annoyed to seriously pissed or she’s wanted the meme-ed out Supreme Court Justice’s face on her clothing for a long time. Knowing MJ, it could totally be either option.

Flash is being an idiot, sulking in the corner. He’s leaning against an advertisement for some new wolf documentary stuck to the window, but his eyes are flickering back and forth from whatever app he’s scrolling through on his phone to Peter talking with Y/N, standing a couple rows up. Maybe he senses me noticing him because he glances suddenly in my direction. We make awkward eye contact before he stiffens and looks away. 

He was probably eavesdropping on the two of them. But I don’t have the energy to confront him about it. Not after yesterday and this morning. Instead, I shift my focus to my friends. Peter, mostly.

_ Oh God, Peter. _ I can already tell he’s about to be at his utmost annoying the moment we get back to our room. (After we switch the rooms back to normal, at least.) 

Standing beside her, he tries to juggle a bunch of keychains for no apparent reason, nearly knocking the shelf over when he fails; Y/N gives him a pitying laugh as she takes them from his hand and organizes them on the shelf where they belong. Her eyes stay on the small task, but Peter’s are practically glued to her face. I think he’s forgotten whatever conversation they were having because there’s a short pause and then the second she turns her head to ask him something, Peter does an odd hop thing like he’s been mildly shocked. Y/N tilts her head, squinting for a moment before moving on to the next overpriced item on the shelf. After a few seconds of finally paying attention, he follows her further down the row.

And I’m standing next to stacks of coffee mugs. I should probably rescue Peter now before he makes a fool of himself. Or a bigger one, I should say.

I pass Flash -- well, sort of, since he’s three rows away -- as I walk toward them. He ignores me like usual, so I ignore him too.

Neither Peter or Y/N notice me approach; they’re lightly arguing. She’s shaking her head and groaning in discontent. It seems playful, but there’s a real hesitance to whatever she’s resisting. Peter sounds like he’s trying to tone down his own grin and failing miserably.

“Nope, no way out of it. You have to choose,” Peter says, half smirking. “Necklace or bracelet?”

She shakes her head again, at a slight loss for words.

“What, so I can feel handcuffed to you? Those necklaces are practically chokers, they’re so short.”

Whatever they’re talking about, it’s definitely the perfect spot for me to jump in.

“Handcuffs and chokers?” I ask, mock shocked. “Kinky.”

They both turn at the same time. Y/N’s face lights up when she sees me. Her cheeks are a bit pink but there’s no doubt she knows I’m joking. Behind her, Peter gives me a  _ Why are you always like this?  _ exasperated look with a somewhat darker blush.

“Ned!” she says. “Christ, you scared me.”

“Too engrossed in handcuffs?”

There’s a grin on my face now and she returns a tired, close mouthed smile. It’s only at this point that I realize how exhausted she looks. The darkness under her eyes combined with her tense posture seems to cloak her whole body with a faintly haunted, paranoid even, halo. 

Nonetheless, she seems tempted to laugh and hit me. Instead rolls her eyes and takes a step to the side.

“Peter, show Ned what you wanted to buy.”

Peter opens his hands. One has a short necklace, the other a bracelet. Both are fake gold and have half hearts with something written on each. It might be  _ best friends _ ?

_ Dear God. Way to be subtle, Peter, you idiot. _

“Y/N and I agreed we need to work on our friendship,” he explains hesitantly, as if he’s just now realizing how fumblingly obvious he’s being. “So, friendship… stuff…?” He almost cringes at his own words. 

_ Don’t laugh, Ned _ , I tell myself.  _ Don’t you dare do it _ .

Before I can comment, MJ’s voice cuts in from the back of the shop and we all turn.

She’s standing in front of Flash, near the door, in a stance that suggests she wants to push him out of her way, or down to the ground. Man, he must be desperate or stupid to attempt to talk to her right now.

“Whatever it is, go tell her yourself!” she half shouts, hands reaching up to her hair. “Leave me out of it, I don’t care!”

MJ shoulders past him, not enough to knock him over, but certainly enough to leave him jostled and lost. His back rises and falls like he’s taking deep breaths. He turns to look directly at Y/N, expression somewhere between frustration and… sadness? That can’t be right. 

As I try to riddle out whatever’s going on, replay the reasons why MJ would be this mad at him and what it has to do with Y/N, I hear Y/N make an almost silent strangled sound beside me. Knowing there’s no way to stop her from whatever she’s about to do, I shut my eyes and curse Flash for being born. 

When I open them, I see that MJ has planted herself in a hotel lobby chair outside the shop with her hood pulled up, arms and legs crossed, sunk deep into the soft leather. Mr. Harrington, sitting in the seat adjacent, moves to ask her a question but she yanks the strings of the hoodie and it closes around her face like an annoyed collapsing black hole.

Y/N takes a quiet breath and Peter tenses on my right. Before he can open his mouth, Y/N says she’ll be right back with a tone that explains nothing and warns us both not to intervene.

I look at Peter, who looks at me, and we both watch her approach Flash. If I know Peter at all, I’m sure his feet are itching to race over to them too.

With her back to us, we can’t see her expression or hear anything she says. All we can do is catch glimpses of Flash, who keeps trying to interrupt her and losing. After about forty seconds they start to argue, or at least that’s what I’d guess from the angry gestures. 

When she starts to leave, Flash grabs her hand. A red flag goes up in my head.  _ That’s an idiotic move _ . Y/N smacks it off with the back of her other hand and leaves him struggling to say… something. I’m bad at reading lips. 

Kinda looks like,  _ Keanu just loves truly _ . Reeves? But I’m 98% certain that’s wrong.

Well, all the same, that clarifies nothing.

As she quickly starts walking back over to me and Peter, I turn my head to ask what he thinks just happened, but he isn’t there. Well, he is, he’s just further down the aisle, where he nearly knocked everything down a few minutes ago. He grabs something and heads toward the cash register without a word.

“He’s not buying those bracelets, is he?” Y/N asks, slightly out of breath. Standing beside me, we both watch him set something small down on the counter.

“I don’t think so,” I say. 

Really, I have no idea. I couldn’t see what he took, but I’d like to offer her some comfort in whichever ways are currently available.

She bites at a nail.

“Good.” I realize she isn’t meeting my eyes. “It would’ve been… awkward, if he had gotten a pair for the two of us and not you and MJ, right?”

_ Awkward?  _

I pause. 

Until now, I hadn’t really considered what might happen if Y/N doesn’t like Peter back. I mean, I have reasons to think she  _ does _ , but I didn’t exactly notice those reasons until I began to look for them.  _ Oh shit, what if she doesn’t?  _

Still, “awkward” doesn’t have to mean anything significant, right? 

I hope not.

“Plus,” she continues, biting her lip for a split second as she watches Peter, “I really don’t want to give Flash any new material to bully him with, you know? Middle school friendship bracelets would be more than enough.”

I nod as Peter finishes his purchase. He turns around, smiling at us, lifting a small plastic shopping bag like a greeting.

Man, I hope this is the end of the mess and not the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Friday, June 13.


	23. Part 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it’s been so long, and thank you for your patience and support! 
> 
> Before you start, I encourage anyone who hasn’t read since the last update to reread or skim the last chapter (or couple of chapters). A few of those confusing plot strings are going to be untangled and sorted out, so it may help to refresh your memory.
> 
> Enjoy!

The alarm clock reads 10:28 p.m. on the nightstand between our beds. 

Alone with Michelle, the room feels emptier and more foreign than when we arrived. Yesterday, its perfect cleanliness was comforting. Today, the air of the room has crystallized into a pristine husk of the words,  _ It’s over, at least _ . 

The only light in the room comes from the alarm clock and t.v. screen, the two coating us and the angles of our beds, dressers, walls, and window in thin outlines of red and flickering blues, greys, and deep greens. It makes the space feel strangely muffled by subtle motion, like a lightning storm charging over water, too weak to spark. It’s a smidge hypnotic; I keep finding myself tracing the keychain charm in my hand without remembering having taken it out of my pocket.

Basically, too much has happened this weekend and the room is too clean to take our minds off it, and neither of us want to talk. Even in spite of the good parts -- our team winning the competition, Peter and I fixing our friendship, untangling everything with him, Michelle, and Ned -- this stillness between me and Michelle seems like defeat. The unspoken conversation hangs over us. 

She knows, and I know she does. She knows that Flash blackmailed me into missing today and she’s frustrated or irritated, maybe even angry. I don’t know if it’s at me or him. It could be both: mad at him for doing it, mad at me for giving in without a fight. The idea nags like a string tugging just under my ear, the worry that she might be upset with me. But then rationality reminds me: it wasn’t me she yelled at earlier and there hasn’t been a single glint of aggression in her eyes when she’s looked at me; if anything, she must be mostly pissed at Flash. 

Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t mind both of us pretending that everything has fallen back into its usual place, at least for tonight, like Michelle seems to want. It’s how she deals with personal stress: she goes silent until she’s over it, or until she says she is. Normally I’d ask her small questions, try and get her to open up and let me help. Right now though, I don’t exactly want to discuss Flash or what happened this morning either. It’s probably best for the both of us to act like we have nothing on our minds. And I think we’re accomplishing that fairly well, given the mindless movie we chose to watch.

As Bella tears her arms from Jacob’s grip and Edward steps in to defend their honeymoon plans, I sink lower into the bed. Behind my head, I can just barely hear Ned and Peter’s voices through the wall. Their sentences are short but I can’t make out the words. Every few seconds there’s a change in the buzzing sound of the t.v. on their side of the wall.  _ Of course they’re still channel flipping _ . I nearly smile. Those two can debate simple tasks for hours-- they’re the opposites of Michelle and me, of our decisiveness. In trivial things, that is. It’s part of the balance that makes our friendship work so well most of the time.

Apart from Michelle’s self-isolation, today seemed to begin evening those scales out again. Though some moments felt... different, for some reason.

After the gift shop, Mr. Harrington briefed us on our leaving schedule for the morning, then asked (for the millionth time, according to Ned and Peter) if we were all  _ absolutely _ certain there wasn’t  _ anything _ we wanted to do while in D.C. Aside from Sally’s muttered “Can we set the White House on fire?” joke, no one had any suggestions. So we all hung out in the lobby for a bit. 

The team (Flash and Michelle not quite included, since they were mostly silent) recapped the entire competition-- naturally arguing over specifics and mocking each others’  _ If my answer is wrong I’m going to piss myself  _ faces. Mr. Harrington had plenty of photos to slide through on his phone (which, by demand, were all sent to a group chat that put our phones into a  _ ding! _ -ing and buzzing circle of hell, earning some glares from other guests in the lobby).

Then, a good hour and a half later, when the hilarity of their  _ Flash’s voice cracked five times within the span of three questions! _ story had bubbled down to smirk-level material, we all (Mr. Harrington excluded) crammed into Cindy and Sally’s room to play Cards Against Humanity. Finally, the hotel’s too-cold air conditioning came in handy: already being so close to so many people in a small area, we laughed too much for too long and the room bordered on uncomfortably warm. The humidity was tangible. The AC did its best to keep up.

At one point, I tried to think of a time when the team had ever laughed themselves into so much pain (again, apart from Michelle and Flash, though Flash  _ did  _ laugh once or twice, when he thought no one saw him, in a way that nearly let me feel sorry for him before remembering what an asshole he’s been; Michelle sat unflinching on the window sill, nose in a book). All I could recall was our dinner, only two nights ago. Maybe it would become a pattern. I hoped so.

For the rest of our collective time together, we played card games, flicked through movies, and burned four bags of popcorn in the microwave by accident. (Fortunately, the microwave was in the floor’s kitchen area and a hotel employee, seeming to expect it, was standing by to turn off the alarm with minimal annoyance.) 

Everything ended up better than I would have thought possible this morning. At best, I expected awkwardness or irritation from the pool incident, but nobody seemed to hold last night’s fight against me or Peter. It was as if nothing had happened. And Peter…. 

Alone in the hotel during those hours before they came back, I thought he might retreat back into the frustrations he exploded over last night; I thought he might come back still upset about parts of it, still distant and hard to read, or else just quiet. 

But he didn’t-- not at all. 

In fact, Peter was a bit of a class clown all day. He didn’t fold into himself like he tends to with larger groups. Instead, he made jokes (genuinely funny ones), told stories ( _ “Do you guys remember that one time when Mr. Harrington…?” _ ), and celebrated his wins with as much enthusiasm as when he called _ bullshit! _ on his losses during our games. It’s been months since he’s done something to surprise me so much, probably since Christmas.

Likely as a way of making up for our fight, he eventually forced Ned -- physically -- to switch spots on the floor with him so he could sit beside me during  _ Uno _ . We cheated, but horribly; we probably made it harder for ourselves than anything else. Peter is the opposite of subtle. He kept using his cards to hide his mouth while he whispered ideas about how to attack Ned and Abe, sitting to our right and left. I did my best to establish some form of code to make it  _ less _ obvious, but he was completely unfocused and picked up on  _ nothing _ . A couple times, he’d be looking right at me, nodding as I gave him advice, only inches from my face, and then, as if he hadn’t heard a single word, played a card that didn’t match whatsoever. Luckily, since only Abe and Ned were affected and because most of our plans failed anyway, no one else cared that we tried teaming up. 

For once, Peter was open (and somewhat of a dork) with the whole team. It reminded me of how he was before his uncle Ben’s death: less guarded, more extraverted, and just...  _ happy _ . Calm, even. Watching it was almost painful. Not that it was a bad thing he was so happy, just-- different. Unexpected. It tipped over boxes of memories I hadn’t realized I’d stored away. A lot of warm ones.

Around 9:00-ish, Michelle shut her book and excused herself with a small  _ Let’s go _ nod to me followed by a hesitant  _ and bring the boys _ glance. Once we were all out, door closed, we waited for laughter to start up again to cover any sound we might make. Then Peter and Ned quietly moved the extra bed back from our room to theirs. 

The moment they carried the frame out, Michelle shut our door. 

A twinge of regret hit me. Part of me had hoped that-- but it didn’t matter.

At that moment, the high of everything trickled down as if all our energy was melting off into the floor, charging that tiny static storm just above the carpet.

I paused a few feet from my bed and waited for her to say something, to explain what was wrong, but she didn’t. Then again, I didn’t expect her to, I just hoped. As Michelle put her book on the nightstand and climbed into bed, I somewhat reluctantly got into mine, thumb running over the keychain in my pocket like a worry stone. Compared to everything else, this part of the weekend was… underwhelming. 

And that’s when I became hyper-aware that the room was too clean.

Our own beds were so neatly laid out (a maid must’ve come in) they gave off an impression of giant frozen ice-cream sandwiches. With the covers peeled down on the right corners, they even looked half-unwrapped. 

That’s a bit how it feels now, an hour and a half later in the present: we’re both neatly packed into the little freezer storage spaces of our beds. And I think it’s helping. Michelle will tell me what she’s thinking when she wants to, but for now we can numb our brains with some of the most awkward acting in the film industry. 

It isn’t quite that easy, though. I am still concerned, no matter how much I pretend otherwise. I try to remind myself that she’s stayed this quiet before plenty of times and that normally her anger spilled all over her face rather than looking as almost-relaxed as she does, but another voice tells me that normally she’ll at least tell me something small to assure me that she’s fine.  _ Don’t overthink it. _ I glance at her from the corner of my eye.

Michelle’s profile is illuminated in dark red, her book cover reflecting the glow from the alarm clock between us. She’s slouched against the headboard of her bed, half-immersed in her comforter, staring straight ahead at the t.v. screen. Pillows are piled high beneath her back and Ruth Bader Ginsburg seems to glare at Edward from the front of her sweatshirt. 

If we had exchanged a few more sentences than those necessary to pick the movie, I would ask her what she thinks RBG’s real opinion on Edward Cullen would be if she had time to watch movies. But I don’t. (Plus, it’s not that hard of a question. RBG would hate him.)

Before I look back at the t.v., my gaze drops and I notice something-- for all the time she spent reading today, Michelle’s bookmark isn’t too far from where it was this morning. 

But I do look back. The trees rush by in the window’s reflection across Bella’s face as Jacob’s poor, pained howls blend into the music.  _ Here comes the most boring part of the movie _ . The driving, boat riding, staring, the agonizingly awkward “human minutes” scene, and the moonlight swimming that always ends with Michelle making a  _ Christ, those are some  _ white _ people _ comment just to fill the silence. 

It’s a good part to skip. And I want to. To step out for a minute and get a breath, seeing as the room is still too still.

“Hey,” I say, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m going to get some ice.”

Michelle turns her head. She glances at my water cup on the nightstand, picks it up, and takes a sip. She makes a face.

“Yeah, bathroom faucet water is disgusting lukewarm.” She looks over to the window sill where she left hers, probably weighing whether or not she’d rather stand up or stay thirsty.

Practically hearing her thoughts, I walk over and get it for her. 

“Thanks,” she says as she takes it. “If you get me some ice too, I promise I won’t spit in yours while you’re gone.”

I roll my eyes and half-smile.  _ Her humor is still there.  _

That short dialog is enough to untie the knots in my shoulders and reassure me that she’s feeling better. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Grabbing the ice bucket and keycard, relief rinses my lungs.  _ Maybe she just wanted me to start the conversation _ . Ironic.

The hallway buzzes with sounds of talking and t.v. behind each door, the smell of popcorn and cheap candy faintly hovering around our side of it. It’s calm, soothing. As I hoped, the signature stillness of the hotel is the perfect fresh air I needed. The soft light helps too, but it’s mostly the comfort of knowing people around us are happy and calm.

At Abe and Flash’s door, there’s a smaller hallway I turn left into. If I remember correctly, the ice machine is in a small pocket room off to the right in ten-ish feet near the family restroom and staircase. 

_ Maybe when I get back, Michelle and I can start a normal conversation. We don’t need to talk about anyt-- _

I turn into the small pocket room. 

It’s Flash. He’s standing just inside the door, on the phone. 

And I’m… blank. At this point, I’ve run out of emotions: I don’t feel anything at the sight of him. No, actually, I do-- I feel weird. He’s in pajamas. It’s like seeing Coach Wilson at the grocery store, like a Twilight Zone episode.

I immediately turn to leave.

“Hol- hold on, dad,” he says behind me. “Let me call you back, I’ll call you back!”

Within two seconds, he’s in front of me, eyes wide.

His mouth opens and closes rapidly at least four times, his hands struggling to make a clear gesture in front of him. Strangely, he looks lost and almost afraid, not at all matching the blackmailing shithead persona from this morning. 

Then again, he hasn’t been an ass since they got back either.

“Wh-- how, how,” he sputters. “Why, uh, why haven’t you responded to any of my texts?” 

Flash seems to stop himself before saying more, which is unusual, given how he constantly steamrolls conversations.  _ God, what could he have sent me? _ As long as he hasn’t tattled to Mr. Harrington, I don’t care.

“I blocked you,” I tell him. “As soon as I bailed on the team this morning, I blocked your number.”

His eyebrows furrow together as he shakes his head, as if he’s totally bewildered. 

“What? Why?”

I almost laugh, the anger or annoyance or whatever starting to build again at his act.

“Because,” I say quietly, just in case anyone else conveniently shows up, “if I had to give up my spot, I wasn’t going to let you hold it over my head all day. And on that note, I really don’t care how else you want to blackmail me with it, I won’t do anything for you again--”

His face twists further into confusion.

“Blackmail?” he interrupts. “What are you talking about, blackmail?”

My brain halts. 

For a split second, we stare at one another incredulously. Then he speaks again, voice higher than normal but still straining to be quiet.

“Why would I blackmail you?” 

I look over my shoulder-- again, just in case. I silently point toward the room with the ice machine. No matter what, I’m not getting in trouble or getting Michelle and Ned in trouble for the room swap.

Once we’re out of sight, I put the ice bucket down, pull my phone from my pocket, unlock it, and hit the message app.

“Your texts,” I whisper, scrolling to our conversation. “Sound a little threatening, don’t you think?”

I shove the phone into his hands. He reads them quickly and gives it back.

“You-- you thought I was trying to blackmail you?”

My face twitches, my certainty faltering. 

“Are you seriously telling me you weren’t?”

“No! It was a joke!”

The air goes completely still. 

_ I gave up my place in the competition for nothing? _

Flash’s face suddenly becomes serious, like reality has hit him in the face at the same time.

“Holy shit. I didn’t, I seriously didn’t think you would take it that way. Is that why Michelle flipped shit at the gift shop?”

“Probably,” I say, weirdly relieved yet freshly frustrated. “I didn’t actually tell anyone but she probably figured it out. Or thought she did.”

_ I missed everything I’ve worked all year for… for absolutely no reason. Fuck. _

If I were alone, I’d probably stare at the wall for five minutes in numb shock. But Flash surprises me:

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” he says, eyes wide. “I had no idea, I swear. I really thought you were sick. You looked awful. I promise, I was only trying to help-- I thought Mr. Harrington was being a jerk and no one would back you up.”

That might be the first time Flash has ever apologized for anything. 

If the last couple days hadn’t already been insane, I’d probably be more upset. But there’s a calmness flooding my veins to lower my pulse. It’s done and there’s nothing more to do. Plus, he apparently  _ tried _ to do the right thing. Even if he ended up doing the opposite. 

“It’s….” I almost say it’s okay, but it’s not, exactly. “Thank god we won.”

Flash smiles for half a second; then he goes back to looking guilty and apologetic.

“Yeah, I got my shit together this year. I studied. A lot.”

_ So did I. _ It’s over though, and there’s always next year. It’s a poor consolation, but--

_ Peter _ .

I bite the inside of my cheek, remembering. I’m glad I didn’t start feeling bad for Flash even momentarily.

“You’re still an ass.” I consider nailing his forehead with the heel of my hand to get him back for that. “I’m not kidding when I say that if you ever touch Peter or anyone else again, I’ll do everything imaginable to make you regret it.”

Flash was about to speak when I paused, but he freezes and his face slackens. For a few seconds, he looks like a child caught in instant regret at the sight of a strict parent.

“It’s not an excuse, but…”

“But what?”

“The dinn-- I.” He restarts. “It really wasn’t that hard.”

The expression on my face must convey plenty. He rushes on.

“Understood though. As long as he shuts up once in a while.” He halts, visibly wincing. “Yeah, no, uh, agreed.”

“Good.”

He nods, avoiding eye contact and sinking into an awkward posture. Maybe it’s because he’s actually apologized and agreed to lay off Peter combined with how genuinely sorry he looks, not to mention the fact he’s wearing pajamas is still taking me off guard, but I do kind of feel a tiny bit bad.

Might as well compromise a little.

“Sorry I told you to shove it up your ass earlier.”

That’s not usually how I apologize, but those were my exact words at the gift shop when he asked me to “just listen” to him. All things considered, I guess I should have.  _ Oops _ .

“It’s cool. I would’ve said the same thing in your position.” He pauses. “Will you tell MJ I’m sorry to her too? And explain the rest?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “I’ll even unblock you.”

He picks up on the fleck of humor and his lip twitches upward.

“Thanks. And again, I’m really sorry.”

Neither of us seem to have anything else to say, so once I nod in acknowledgement, he mirrors it, turns, and slowly walks back into the hallway.

I pick up the ice bucket and, as intended, fill it.

_ Well, that’s another box to check off. Figuring out how to get Flash to drop the blackmail: done. Now I just need to talk to Michelle about it-- _

His footsteps, which had been steadily fading away, abruptly rush back.

He leans into the doorway, looking more like his obnoxious self.

“So you actually slept with Peter?”

I resist the urge to swing the bucket at him.

“Flash, I swear to  _ God _ I will murder you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear anything from you guys, whether it's your reactions, predictions, or general thoughts, I value your opinions more than I can say.
> 
> Happy holidays and all my love,  
> Jane


End file.
